Storms in Middle Earth
by thisiswhyishouldn'twritefanfic
Summary: Pre-fellowship/AU. Following an unsettling dream, Aragorn joins Legolas in Mirkwood, but he is not the only old friend to cross its borders. Legolas is determined to help his friend rescue his family, but Aragorn distrusts this strange elf and his companions. He refuses to let Legolas go off alone chasing an Avari into the shadows, but a storm is coming whether he likes it or not.
1. Dreams and Coming Storms

**Storms in Middle Earth  
Chapter One****  
Word Count:** 2,819**  
Rating:** T/PG-13, with discussions of/implied torture and some... death**  
Disclaimer:** Normally I'm wittier, but... I got nothing. I would say I own nothing, but that's not true. I created the original characters that are driving the plot, so... I guess I own _something._**  
Summary:** Pre-fellowship/AU. Following an unsettling dream, Aragorn joins Legolas in Mirkwood, but he is not the only old friend to cross its borders. Legolas is determined to help his friend rescue his family, but Aragorn distrusts this strange elf and his companions. He refuses to let Legolas go off alone chasing an Avari into the shadows, but a storm is coming whether he likes it or not.**  
Author's Note:** I logged in today to delete the two stories I had posted, _Storms in Middle Earth_ and _Dreams and Coming Storms,_ intending to start over with both of them, but then a new review made me pause and start rethinking that decision again. In the end, I decided that I had made so many changes to Storms' chapters already and rambled too much in author's notes for my liking and concluded that it was better to start fresh. This way I can test the way the story flows now with the changes I made, and I hope it will be more cohesive this time.

So I apologize. A part of this will be familiar, as it is exactly as it was in _Dreams and Coming Storms._ The beginning, however, is new.

The elvish here and the names I used for the original characters come from the arwen-undomiel site. The words of the lament are from their transcription/translation of the lament for Gandalf, and according to them, it means: _No more you will wander the world green. Your journey in darkness stopped. The bonds cut, the spirit broken._

One more thing: while there _are _original characters in this story, there is not and will not be any attempt at pairing anyone with Legolas or Aragorn. This is more a story about friendship and family... with all the angst and drama and trouble that come with those things.

* * *

**Dreams and Coming Storms**

_His mother's last scream cut through the air, a wail matched by the trees around them, and he knew at least one other now howled in anguish, but he could not speak. He could not move because of the foul creatures holding him, could not free himself from their hold, weakened as he was. He was supposed to have hidden, and he'd tried, but when hiding failed, he'd had tried to fight, but his fight was for nothing._

_He should not have called for her. She would not have come, and she would not now be dead. This was his fault. His doing. She had tried to fight through the orcs to get to him, but they had only laughed as they outnumbered her, and though she fought with the determination of a mother that would save her child, the orcs were too many. She could not win against them all. No one could have._

"Nana," _he whispered, trying to get to her. He wanted to believe that he was wrong, that she had not died, that he had not killed her by leading her into this, but he had._

"_Pathetic little worm," the orc said, spitting on his face. "We will enjoy your screams now."_

* * *

Legolas studied the picture with a frown. He did not know what had drawn him to it, but he had been unable to prevent those same images, the same feelings from being drawn back to his mind, as though with one brushstroke the painter had managed to send the painful memories to him, even if the portrait had been finished long before the events occurred.

He touched his fingers to the fair face, wishing that he could remember her this way, with this serene and slightly amused smile, not the contorted look of pain that had marred her face in death.

_Nana._

He should not be here. He should not have come, since all this brought him was bad memories. He did not want to remember his mother with pain. He had tried to gather to him all the good times, to replay the sound of her laughter and to imagine the warmth of her arms. Those were the things that he wanted to keep, to hold tight to, not the terrible image of her lifeless body.

"_Why is it I can't remember her the way she was?" Legolas asked, shaking his head at his mother's portrait. He didn't mean to come down here, where the painting hung, but he'd taken a turn while playing with his friends. He'd stopped, and he didn't know how long he'd stared at her face before he heard someone behind him. "She was alive for centuries even before I was born, and she was full of life and laughter. _Ada _doesn't speak of her often, but when he does, it is always of how she loved something—me, mostly, since I think he likes to embarrass me with those stories. I want to remember her that way, but I can't. All I hear are her screams."_

"_That is your guilt. It will not let you remember her without pain until you are ready to stop punishing yourself," the other elfling answered, sounding older than he was again. Legolas looked at him, wondering what he saw when he looked at the painting—his own mother, perhaps? What had she been like? Was she anything like the queen had been?_

"_Do you remember what your mother's laughter was like?" Legolas should not ask. They did not speak of these things often—Varyar spoke so seldom sometimes that he would have seemed mute if not for the things that came out of his mouth when his siblings provoked him._

"_Yes, but that is easier for me. I have a sister who sounds like her," his friend answered. He smiled, one both rueful and pleased, betraying his affection for his sister as well as his pain of that similarity._

_Legolas shook his head. "I do not think it is easier—how can it be when you are always reminded of what you have lost and your own part in what happened?"_

"_Is that how you see your father, Legolas? You consider him just a reminder of what you have lost?" Varyar stepped forward, his hand reaching forward to touch the painting, tracing along the line of the queen's fine hair. "That punishes both of you, and I do not think you want that."_

"_I do not want to cause my father any pain," Legolas said, tempted to close __his eyes for a moment, not wishing to see the painting any longer. "That is why I do not discuss her with him. You are the only one I feel I can speak of her with—the only one who understands these things that are within me even without me saying them, _gwador."

"_Brother? I do not see the resemblance," Varyar said, lifting up the dark strands of his hair and comparing it first to the portrait and then to Legolas. "Not unless someone in the royal family was unfaithful to their bond...__"_

"_Now you speak treason," Legolas said, lunging for his friend, and Varyar laughed as he dodged him, running down the hall. Legolas ran after him, willing to let himself enjoy their game and forget his troubles again for a time._

Legolas reached his hand out to the painting, tracing along the same line that his friend had done so many years ago. He would like to hear that laughter again, to know the comfort that came from the understanding they'd shared, but with centuries of nothing but silence, that comfort was gone.

He turned from the painting, walking back toward his room.

Other friends he could have sought out, other friends would have done their best to cheer him, and he would have welcomed their efforts, even if a part of him felt they could not reach the part of him that ailed. So few knew that kind of loss, and if they did, they knew it in what seemed like such a different way—many there were that had family who had sailed, others who had seen their loved ones fall in death, but Legolas knew of only one other that had watched his mother tortured to death before his eyes and believed it his fault. In that, he and Varyar had been so alike, alike enough for Legolas to call him _gwador._

He thought of others he would give that name to, those here and those off in other realms, elves he had come to know well—and of one man, one ranger, who had managed somehow to become a part of that number—and he hoped that their night was more restful than his.

_Sleep well, brothers. _Losto vae.

* * *

"Ú-reniathach i amar galen. I reniad lín ne môr, nuithannen. In gwidh ristennin, i fae narchannen..."

_The lament ended, the voice faltering with the words. No gift of song had this particular elf, or if he did, he did not use it well. Perhaps that was grief interfering with skill, or perhaps it was that the singer did not want the song to be true._

_The trees stirred as if in warning, but the elf was too preoccupied to listen to them. The skies darkened, wind picking up around the lone figure on the cliff edge, whipping back long hair and tunic all at once, threatening to knock him off onto the ground or down onto the rocks under his feet. He spared a glance toward the stormy skies before a sound drew his attention back behind him._

_Another gust rushed him, and he knelt down, hands on the boulder underneath him. The winds carried a scent that was familiar, both welcome and unwelcome at the same time. He was where he needed to be._

_He set his weapons down on the ground before easing himself down next to them. If he continued to stand, he would be seen in an instant, but he was at least clever enough to know that and to hide himself as best he could._

_His eyes returned to the path below him, and he kept himself pressed against the rocks as he overlooked it, trying to gauge the distance and the time it would take to cover that distance. Moments, he thought, only moments, and he lowered his cheek to the stone. He felt that he was dwarfed by the cliff surrounding him, knowing that he was smaller than most. His clothes were dusty, all but the one sleeve, torn and stained with more than dirt. He grimaced as he moved toward the side of the rock, glancing down._

_The fall could be fatal to a mortal. To an elf, a great inconvenience, at least. He did not want to fall, but it might be necessary to make the jump. Landing on the approaching patrol would cushion that tumble, would take some of them down, and that would help with the odds. That was the sort of story that others would tell, the great warriors, but he knew he was not one of them._

_He reached for the bow beside him, a slight cry escaping his lips as he did. He lowered himself down again, trying to blend with the rocks once more. He could not let himself be seen by the ones that were coming._

_No alarm came from the orcs below. He had not alerted them to his presence, but how much longer would that last? The time had come; it could wait no longer. He would have perhaps one shot with the bow, maybe two, and if the orcs were not already dead, then someone else would be._

_He did not know that he trusted his skill with the bow, not even when he was not injured. He was worse with a sword, and the one he had been given was too heavy for his hand to grip with the pain in his arm. He looked again at the approaching orcs, counting their number and determining his fate. He was resigned to it, it was accepted, it might even be a relief, but it could not be without purpose, this death._

_Honor must be avenged, the mistakes atoned for, and when that was done, then perhaps rest. He drew the bow close. At least one orc dead was better than none. The shot was fired, the orc fell, the jump was made, and the cry given._

"_Legolas!"_

* * *

Aragorn jerked awake, the peace of Imladris disturbed by his restless slumber. He was not used to dreams of that sort—he had memories that he wished forgotten that would revisit him in his sleep, he had fears that would grip him only in the darkness of night, but those dreams were his. This one was unlike most he'd known—sometimes he thought he knew what his father's last moments were like, but he did not usually dream of strange elves.

Except—for all that he had not recognized any part of that dream—the location, the incident, even the elf. Though the name Legolas had been spoken, he had not thought it was Legolas who acted—the voice had not seemed to be his, not in that lament, and yet if he _was _somehow Legolas...

Perplexed, the man rose from his bed, walking across his room, wishing to find the source of his disquiet. He did not understand this dream, nor did he know why he would have it. Others might have been given them as warnings, visions to help prevent danger or injury or even death, but he had not known himself to have that gift, never before, and why should he start now?

He left his room, his feet carrying him down to the courtyard, needing to dispel some of this agitation. He wanted to be free of its troubled energy. Another time he would have ridden or he would have hunted, but not now, not tonight.

"What is it that disturbs you, Estel?"

Ruefully, Aragorn turned to see his foster father standing there. He had not heard the elf-lord approach, but he did not know that Elrond had not been there before he entered the courtyard. "I had a strange dream."

"Oh?"

Aragorn thought that he might have amused the elf with his words. "I cannot say why it managed to be so disconcerting. It was not as terrible as other nightmares, nor as full of guilt as some of my past actions, nor was it full of fear of what the future would hold—unless, of course, it was intended as a warning, but I have never had that kind of foresight."

"Do you wish for an interpretation?"

"I do not know. Perhaps talking of it will lessen its hold—though with all dreams, it is likely to fade quickly."

"Not all dreams do that," Elrond said, folding his hands together. "What was it you saw?"

"An elf, alone, preparing to ambush a group of orcs. I did not know him, but near the end of the dream, someone spoke the name Legolas. I did not think he was the one in the dream—he was not like the Legolas I know—but perhaps I was somehow mistaken..." Aragorn rubbed his head. "At the beginning, there was a lament, but the one singing it was a poor vocalist."

"Not every elf is gifted with song, or have you not heard your brothers argue that often?"

Aragorn smiled. He had, and now he missed the twins and their antics, for he would gladly have them here to make all thought of this dream disappear—it had no right to have such a hold on him. "That is true. Still, I do not understand. What meaning could any of this have?"

"The elf you saw... was he injured?"

"He was—his sleeve had been torn, and he'd bled—and now that I think on it, there was a strange mark upon his arm. It was not one I have seen before. If I attempted to draw it, perhaps someone else would recognize it." Aragorn stopped, watching Elrond's face for a reaction. "Do you already know it? Did you see what it was that I saw?"

"This was no shared vision," Elrond answered, moving to the edge of the courtyard and looking out at the woods around them. "I cannot tell you why you would have had such a dream now, nor am I certain if it is anything like what I can picture for myself. Draw the mark if you can. That might be our answer."

"And if it is not?"

"Whether it is or is not, I think you will get little rest until you have seen for yourself that the prince of Mirkwood is well and unharmed. I believe a journey is in your future."

Aragorn nodded. He knew that his father was wise—and he knew also that the lord of Imladris knew him well. He would not be able to rest until he had seen Legolas for himself, to know that this was not a mere dream, not a fancy of any kind. "If you have no immediate answer to the mark, will you send word to me if you find it?"

"You think I would conceal some truth from you?"

"I did not always know myself to be the heir of Elendil, did I?"

Elrond nodded in deference. "That is true as well. Nevertheless, if your dream is some kind of portent, I will not keep you from the warning that it holds."

Aragorn watched him. "Somehow I think you already know—or at least suspect—what this dream portends."

"I cannot say, not until I have seen the mark."

"Do you think the elf I saw was truly an elf? What if it was not?"

"If this was a message, it is difficult to say what part of it was true and what stands in place of something else. It is possible it is nothing—or it is possible it is a warning. There may yet be a threat to Legolas, and it is not one we understand. Often do orcs cross into what was once Greenwood, and the corruption spreads. At any time, the young prince could fall to such a force, though we would not believe it so simple or easy to cause his end. Still, the orcs may be more than orcs."

"They are the servants of the shadow—do you think that is why I saw them?"

"Perhaps."

"You are being infuriating."

Elrond gave him a slight smile. "I cannot tell you what I do not know, _ion-n__ín. _What comes may not be what you expect, nor may it be as dark as this foreboding seems. All I can suggest is that you go to your friend, that you might be with him no matter what may yet come."


	2. Shadows Along the Border

**Storms in Middle Earth  
Chapter Two****  
Word Count:** 3,450**  
****Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really**  
Author's Note:** I admit that I am not that well-versed in Tolkien, I need to reread the books, and despite my almost obsessive watching of the extended editions and lots of reading of fanfiction, I doubt I do any of this justice. I just started combining the new affection I had for Legolas and Aragorn friendship stories set before the fellowship with some concepts I kept trying to use in some original fiction, and this is the result.

Again, the names for the other elves come from the arwen-undomiel site, and I took some of the elvish from Hiswelókë's Sindarian dictionary.

This does, of course, use the assumption that Elrond adopted Aragorn as a son and I admit to being influenced by the mellon chronicles, though I could not hope to follow them. I just like the concepts and especially the friendship.

Much of this is the same as the original first chapter, though I have added to it, moved scenes around, and edited it to fit more with the rest of the story.

* * *

**Shadows Along the Border**

_Darkness had become his only companion, all that he knew._

_The elf did not lift his head. The pain was too great, and it worsened with every movement that he attempted to make. He had become accustomed to this prone position on the hard floor, and he did not know that he would move from it again. _

_He would have liked to see the sun again, would have loved to feel the warmth of a breeze through the trees, but such hope was foolish, something he had long since parted with as the darkness lingered on, as the pain continued, and the shadow grew in his mind._

_He would never see home again._

* * *

"I am glad that you have come to visit,_ mellon-nín,_ yet I confess that I did not expect it," Legolas said, leaning against the wall next to his friend. "What brings the ranger this deep into our land? Have you come to count the spiders with us?"

"Is that how you wood elves spend your days now?"

Legolas let out a breath. In some sense, the words were true. They spent long days on patrol, trying to keep the shadow from encroaching further into the land, and that meant ensuring that the spiders they found were killed if possible and driven back if not, that no nests were allowed to fester and the population did not grow beyond their ability to control it.

"Peace, Legolas. I know your land is troubled in these days. I admire you for your dedication to defending it."

"And worry for me at the same time?" Legolas asked, studying the man with a frown. He did not need to be protected, not in his own lands, and in many ways, he already felt like he was being coddled. He was allowed to patrol the borders, yes, but only with a group of greater number than any of the other teams. He still had personal guards to watch over him, and sometimes he thought his father would make him resume lessons with a tutor if he could.

"Yes, as I am sure you do me, living the life of a ranger."

Legolas stiffened. He did not like thinking too much of Estel's work as a ranger and the risk that came with it. He knew the man to be a fighter with skill, having been raised by elves and expected to fight the battles of a king, but he knew, too, how easily the life of a mortal could end. He did not want to see the day that Estel perished, did not want to lose another friend. "You are mortal. There is greater danger to you."

"I am well, and I did not come here injured."

"Yet I suspect you come here thinking that_ I_ would be injured. Tell me, Estel, what is it that troubles you so that you come here for my sake?"

"I had a dream," Estel said with a grimace. "Do not look at me that way. I do not have Ada's gift of foresight, but I did find it very unsettling all the same._ Ada_ told me I would know no peace until I saw you for myself, and he was right."

Legolas smiled. "Your father is wise, though I think anyone could say the same under the circumstances. Might I guess, then, that I succumbed to a terrible fate in your dream?"

"I am not certain."

"You're not? Then why did you rush to my side?"

"I do not know," Estel admitted, uncomfortable. He shook his head. "I saw an elf I did not know, and he was lying in wait to ambush a patrol of orcs. I did not think him to be you, but someone called your name—and the dream ended."

An ambush. Someone calling his name. Legolas frowned. He could see such a moment, yes, and he had even known some not dissimilar from what his friend had described, but he did not know why Estel would dream of it. "I cannot speak to the reason for your troubling dream, my friend. No one has ambushed me in many years, and though the orcs have been more plentiful of late, I do not fear them."

"Perhaps that is the most dangerous thing about it—that you do not fear danger."

"Oh? And does the great ranger lie terrified in his bedroll at night, wishing he were back within the hallowed ground of Imladris? Does he beg for his_ Ada_ to come save him?"

Estel shoved him, and Legolas smiled in return. He had missed teasing his friend, had missed lighter days and laughter. Greenwood grew darker by the day, it seemed, more deserving of the name Mirkwood. He thought soon he would see his entire land consumed by shadow, that he could do nothing to stop it.

"Come," he said, pushing away from the wall. "If it is such a concern to you, you may join me on my next few patrols and see to my safety. I am certain you will learn that I am actually_ over-_protected these days, almost to the point of smothering, but it shall chase these fears from your mind and show you that I am not in danger."

"Legolas—"

"That I am not in as_ much_ danger as you fear," Legolas corrected, for he could not convince Estel that there was no danger at all. He was not ignorant of the shadow. He knew what he faced when he went near the borders. This was not just a duty, though, and he would not retreat to the palace to cower and hide. He would keep protecting his land for as long as was in his power to do so.

"I think I shall judge for myself just how much danger you're in."

"You mean you're going to get yourself in trouble and see how well you survive it."

* * *

"Something strange stirs in the woods."

Aragorn stopped behind the elf, wondering what it was the trees were saying to him, what whispered on the wind and what Legolas' senses added to those murmurs. He himself saw nothing, not yet, though if he attempted to track it, he might know more.

"Something touched by shadow," Legolas said, and Aragorn could see the tension in the elf. He thought of teasing him, saying something about how he should never have joined him for a supposed routine patrol, but the elf's unease made him hold his tongue. He did not know what this trouble was, but he did not want to belittle it—not that he thought he could have, not after what had driven him here to Legolas' side. This was supposed to prove that Aragorn's dream and the fears that came with it were meaningless, but he did not think it would.

"Orcs?"

"No, it is something else, something..." Legolas trailed off, walking forward into the trees.

"My lord," one of the guards began, his voice hesitant, looking to Ehtyarion for support as he tried to challenge the prince, but the older elf said nothing, letting the younger one continue while he kept his own counsel. "Perhaps you should not venture forth without—"

"Someone comes," Legolas said, his voice troubled, disappearing into the trees. Aragorn thought that the other elves might curse him for his recklessness, even as the man was tempted to do, though they would not say it. He hurried after his friend, following him into the growing darkness. They should turn back, but he would not leave Legolas alone with whatever he was hunting.

Shadows in Mirkwood, the taint of Dol Guldur, the encroaching evil of the tower, these were all things that Legolas had dealt with throughout his life, enough to where Aragorn should not fear for his friend's safety—he knew that the prince was capable of defending himself. Still, the ranger worried even as he drew close to the elf's side.

_If this is ends up being about spiders, _Aragorn began, but before he could finish the thought, the elf motioned to the trees before them.

Aragorn frowned. These shadows were no spiders, no orcs. They moved with caution the same way Legolas did, though he knew of few elves that would array themselves in such a manner—both wore black from boot to cloak, one even with gloves upon his hands. Were they men, then? To what purpose would they breach Mirkwood's borders? Their clothes and furtive movement suggested that they had no desire to be known here. That alone was troubling.

He went to motion Legolas that he intended to flank them, but Legolas shook his head, a finger pressed to his lips as he watched the others. One man's cloak caught on a branch, pulling the hood off his head, and Aragorn frowned. Those ears had the shape of an elf's, but he knew of no elf that wore his hair that short, shorter even than a man's. The uneven cut would seem a mark of shame, for it was quickly covered again.

Aragorn heard the rest of Legolas' patrol moving in behind him, finding their places in the trees. The two dark-cloaked travelers stopped, conferring with each other in whispers that the ranger thought even the elves struggled to hear.

"Trespassers! Hold, by order of King Thranduil!" Ehtyarion ordered, and Aragorn knew that the others were already holding their bows aloft, arrows at the ready. "State your purpose in these lands or perish."

The strange elf stopped, his eyes flickering under his hood, shifting colors, speaking a curse in a low voice. "I had not realized we came so close to Greenwood."

Greenwood? Aragorn was not the only one who frowned to hear the kingdom called by its former name, one that had been altered centuries ago. Long were the lives of elves, but to find one that did not know of the change in Mirkwood—how was that possible?

It was not. This was some kind of ruse—a trick or a trap.

"Though we wish it other wise, this land has not been known as Greenwood for many years, though I suppose it has been equally long since I have seen you," Legolas told him, staring in what seemed to be wonder mixed with a bit of disbelief. "Much has changed with you—that I can see for myself."

The hooded eyes shifted toward Aragorn. "Much has changed with you as well."

Legolas nodded in acknowledgment of the other elf's words. "It has. Come, _mellon-nín. _My home is open to you, as always."

The other elf—half-elf, perhaps—shook his head. "No. It was a mistake to stray into this land, and we will not linger."

* * *

"Linger all you want, _mellon-nín. _You are welcome here," Legolas said, moving to embrace the old friend that he had not seen in centuries. He had heard the murmurs of the trees, the warnings on the wind, and yet when he saw the figures in the dark cloaks, he had not wanted to move against them. Something had stopped him, and now he was glad that it had. He turned back to the archers, though Ehtyarion should not have needed this order."Stay your arrows. This is an old friend who has... lost his way. Though as I remember it, it was your brother who had trouble knowing where he was going, not you, Firyavaryar."

The elf's eyes darkened, and his companion leaned to speak in his ear. Firyavaryar shook his head, answering in the same low tone. He turned back to Legolas. "He was never as lost as you were, little prince."

Legolas laughed. He had always been 'little prince' to Varyar, much to his annoyance. "You would say that. How is Idhrenion? Still lost in your father's books?"

"No."

The tone gave Legolas pause. "What has befallen him? Has he passed into Mandos' halls?"

Firyavaryar glanced toward his companion. The other cloak shook his head, and for a moment, Legolas wanted to hope that the other cloak belonged to Idhrenion, but that hope was to be one in vain. When he spoke, the voice was not familiar. "Not yet."

"That is what you mean by you dare not linger?" Legolas asked, frowning. "What has happened, Varyar? I have not heard of you for so long, and now Idhrenion is—is he ill? You would do well to bring him here or let us see him. Estel is the adopted son of Lord Elrond of Imladris and—"

"Even were I certain that Idhrenion were injured, I would ask no aid of Lord Elrond. Coming here was a mistake, as I told you. We will trespass no further."

"Varyar, please, what has—" Legolas stopped. Asking his old friend what had happened would be inadequate, perhaps even insulting, and yet like a foolish elfling, he did not want to let his friend go—_could _not let him go. "Whatever it is that has happened to Idhrenion, I would help you find him. You have my bow."

"Prince Legolas—"

"You make offers when you understand nothing. So quick are you to pledge yourself when you know not what you are giving your word to," Firyavaryar said. "You are fortunate. I hold you not to such foolish words so hastily given."

Legolas frowned. The bitterness with which his friend spoke did not sound elvish, did not even sound like Varyar. Where was the one he had played with as an elfling? Where were the pranks and laughter? Even Mirkwood had not lost all hope even as the shadow continued to darken the woods that were once green.

"Where is Sérëdhiel?" Legolas asked, knowing that her absence was at least part of what tormented his friend. When Firyavaryar withdrew, his sister could reach him. If she had gone, if she had passed to Mandos' halls or faded—he feared for the elf he had known. "The person who has Idhrenion—he has her as well?"

Varyar stiffened. "Again, you speak of things you know nothing of. Centuries have passed, and yet you would think me the same as I was when we were young—you are still foolish and far too trusting."

"Legolas," Estel said, causing him to look at the man for the first time since he had known the cloaked figure to be Firyavaryar. The ranger hesitated, and Legolas understood—he thought Varyar and his companion were a threat, perhaps even the one his dream had warned of—but if the dream involved Firyavaryar, it was not what Estel thought, could not be.

"My lord," Ehtyarion began. "Your father's orders—"

"_Alagos," _Firyavaryar said, his voice full of something that Legolas would have called pain if the other elf had ever admitted to feeling anything of the sort. His companion caught him, holding him before he could fall. "Need... shelter."

"We will find some," his friend said, drawing Varyar away from them and back into the trees.

* * *

"My lord, we should return."

Aragorn touched Legolas' arm, trying to draw the elf's attention back to him. He could see that the "trespassers" had unsettled him, and the one that Legolas called friend had been distant, perhaps even enough to cause the elf pain. "You came this way tracking something touched by shadow. What if that something is your former friend? Or his companion?"

Legolas shook his head. "I admit Firyavaryar has changed. That is undeniable, but Estel—you do not know him. You do not know the elf he was. His family has always been _everything _to him. If someone has harmed Idhrenion or Sérëdhiel—or, worse, _both _of them—there is no telling the sort of darkness that would overtake him. They were all still elflings when their mother was lost and their father followed her in grief. He raised his siblings. If anything has happened to them—No, I must help him. I do not know what has kept him from Mirkwood, but I will do what I can to help him."

"I understand you wanting to help him," Aragorn said. He did not doubt that was foremost in Legolas' mind at the moment, so much so that he was going to overlook the danger in the situation and see only what was good in his friend—a friend that he no longer knew. "I would only caution you against rushing into this—as he told you, you do not know what his situation is."

"That is true." The elf came close to shutting his eyes as he let out a breath. "Nevertheless, I must go after him."

"Legolas—"

"You saw him—he is injured. And the only shelter to be had around here would be in a cave—a cave full of spiders." Legolas started forward. "You also heard him call this Greenwood. He does not know the dangers of the caves or this land. He must be warned."

"My lord, you should not go outside the—"

"I am going alone. You have already chased him away once. That will not happen again, not before he is warned of the new nature of this land," Legolas said, turning to the guards. "I hope I can persuade Varyar to accompany us, but either way, I will rejoin you shortly."

Ehtyarion moved in front of him. "You should not go alone."

"I am not helpless, and I do not fear Firyavaryar."

"I will go with you," Aragorn told him. He refused to abandon his friend, and he would not let Legolas go into what he felt was certain to be a trap. They might well have come to the edge of the woods just for this purpose, to lure Legolas away from the others, from the part of the kingdom that was safe. A former friend, one that had been gone for too long—that was the sort of bait that would easily ensnare a friend as loyal as Legolas.

None of the guards had recognized this Firyavaryar, and Aragorn would have thought that Ehtyarion, at least, would have. The other guards did not seem to know the other names that Legolas had spoken of—Idhrenion or Sérëdhiel. All of those elves, it would seem, had been away from Mirkwood long enough for them to be forgotten even in the long memory of the firstborn. Aragorn would have liked to have gone back to the others, to Thranduil or anyone else who might know of this friend of Legolas, one he had never mentioned before the elf's arrival on the borders of Mirkwood.

"You said that Firyavaryar was a friend."

Legolas looked back at him. "You think he is not."

"Am I so obvious?"

"Yes."

Aragorn smiled at that, though he was not as amused as he might have been. "You have never spoken of him before."

"There are many that I have not spoken of, Estel. We would need more than your lifetime to tell you all that has transpired in mine." Legolas stopped. "It is... A part of me is very relieved to see Varyar alive. After centuries of silence, I had begun to believe that he had long since left for Mandos' halls. I had even... grieved."

Aragorn frowned. He knew how deeply grief could affect an elf, but he did not understand. "Why did you not know his fate? Was he not from Mirkwood? Was there not someone you could ask?"

"No," Legolas said. "There was not."

His tone told Aragorn that there would be no more discussion of this subject. He turned his attention back to the woods, moving forward again, tracking his friend through the trees. Aragorn walked after him, catching some of the same signs that the elf had used as they went along. His mind was not on the tracking.

"There is a cave ahead. I believe they would have gone in there."

"And found the danger of the spiders for themselves," Aragorn said, getting a tight nod from the elf as he moved forward. Legolas started to withdraw an arrow for his bow, readying it as he approached the cave.

A light flashed within the cavern, and Legolas stilled. Aragorn caught a scent on the air, one he knew that his elven companion could not have missed, despite his silence. "I smell fire. It is not a natural sort."

Legolas' lips thinned into a line. "Varyar has never liked spiders."

Aragorn frowned. Did that mean Legolas believed his friend the cause of the unnatural fire? He had not known any elf to command fire in that way. Once again, he was reminded that Legolas had chased a shadow when he found his old friend.

A friend long lost... and touched by shadow. This _was _a trap.


	3. The Strange Ties of Family

**Storms in Middle Earth  
Chapter Three  
Word Count:** 4,912  
**Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really.  
**Author's Note:** While I wanted to include a new snippet from the distressed elf like the one in the now second chapter, this one chapter opened with a flashback, and I didn't feel that it worked to go from it to the scene with Legolas, Firyavaryar, and his siblings. So there is, actually, no change to this chapter from what I posted before.

* * *

**The Strange Ties of Family**

"_You will never be the archer that I am," Legolas said, smiling as he reclaimed his arrows from the practice target. All of his were in the middle two circles, but his companions' had not been as accurate. Only one other managed a hit in the center circle, and most were in the outermost circle—if they had hit the target at all._

"_That is why I will cower behind the little prince and let him save me," Firyavaryar said, stepping behind Legolas and making it so that neither Idhrenion or Sérëdhiel could see him when he did. His sister giggled, the sound going out into the clearing, but Idhrenion glared at Legolas._

"_Don't say that. Varyar protects us. He always does. You know nothing."_

_Firyavaryar sighed, walking around to where his brother stood. Of all of them, Idhrenion had missed the most with his arrows. Some went so wild that Legolas did not think they would find them even if they searched for hours. That must upset the youngest, and he spoke out of that anger, still very much a child._

"_There are other ways of winning fights—of winning wars," Firyavaryar said, touching his brother's shoulder. "Some need what only you have, little brother. Your cleverness may save you many more times than Legolas' bow will save him."_

"_You should be so fortunate as not to have to be seen as a warrior," Sérëdhiel told Idhrenion, coming around to kiss his cheek. "The prince has no choice, but we do. We may turn from a fight and cause harm to no one except perhaps to ourselves. He cannot—that would dishearten all the people of the land. That is a burden that none of us would want to carry."_

_Legolas frowned. Idhrenion looked over at him before whispering something to his sister that made her laugh. Firyavaryar cuffed him lightly on the back of his head for whatever that statement had been._

"_I, for my part, am glad not to be a warrior," Sérëdhiel said, going back to the target and gathering her missed arrows from the ground. "More are helped by healing than will ever be helped by war, and that is where all our talents could go should we wish it."_

_Legolas looked over at Firyavaryar. "And what would you choose, _mellon? _What do you think of the wise counsel of your sister?"_

_Varyar's eyes went to the trees at the edge of their training ground. "I have seen too much of death to think the sight anything more than waste—no honor, no glory, nothing to be sung about in songs. However, as I am a poor shot with the bow, I think I must devote myself to bettering my skill with the blade for when they get close—for they _will_ get close."_

_Legolas nodded. Perhaps he relied too much on his own bow. "I will join you in that training. I cannot trust everything to my bow, either."_

_Firyavaryar turned to his brother. "Go inside and wash before you eat. You can skulk in the library after your meal."_

"_I don't skulk." Idhrenion said, folding his arms over his chest. "I was reading, not skulking. There are many things of interest in those books. We write it down and yet still manage to forget what we know. Only by reading can we remember."_

"_Or, if we are you, we never forget," Firyavaryar said, pushing his brother forward. "Why you were given such an annoying memory, I do not know."_

"_One of us has to be smart," Idhrenion said. He turned back and tugged on one of Varyar's braids before laughing and running away._

"_That one is Sérëdhiel!" Firyavaryar called after him, and Legolas smiled at their antics. He knew of few closer siblings—the sons of Elrond, perhaps, but they were twins and their closeness was to be expected—and he always enjoyed his time in their company. _

"_He is still so young," Sérëdhiel said, rejoining them. She passed her arrows to her brother. "I fear he may never mature."_

"_Let him keep his youth," Firyavaryar said, adding the arrows to his quiver. "Too few of us can."_

_Legolas looked at him. "And, of course, sending him off early has nothing to do with whatever you might have waiting for him back in his room."_

"_Firyavaryar!" Sérëdhiel said, and Legolas smiled at her indignation before he ran off after his friend, wanting to see what he had done to his younger brother this time._

* * *

"Varyar?" Legolas stepped into the cavern, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness and trying not to be bothered by the damp or the lack of light. He knew that his friend would be here. He had seen the light and smelled the same unnatural fire as Estel had, and while he was concerned by the later part, he comforted himself with knowing that Firyavaryar had always respected the powers that governed the land—he would not have abused any kind of power he might have acquired in the intervening centuries.

He knew that Estel would not share his optimism or faith in his old friend, and he expected the man to enter the cave prepared for battle. He would not allow that to pass.

"You were not supposed to follow."

"Since when have I ever not?" Legolas asked, laughing a bit as he drew closer to the other elves. "I could not let you wander about in pain and danger—though you seem to have dealt with the spiders without any assistance."

"I need no prince to help me kill spiders," Varyar said, replacing his glove. Legolas could not see any damage to the hand, but he did not get long enough look as to be certain. Firyavaryar leaned against the wall of the cave, his companion nearby but not close. "You need not protect me or warn me—I told you it was an accident that led us to cross your borders."

"An elf that gets lost so easily is a rare one indeed," Estel said, and Legolas knew he was not the only one aware of the weapon he held as he joined them. The other elf, still hooded, glanced toward him and turned away again, saying nothing, but the contempt seemed visible enough in his posture.

"Not so rare if you knew Idhrenion, Estel," Legolas said, trying to keep these dealings pleasant, to remind Firyavaryar of their former depth of friendship. "That one could get lost in the library—and frequently did."

Firyavaryar closed his eyes, and Legolas knew he must get Varyar to speak of his brother, but he did not know how he would get any sort of tale from him, not without Sérëdhiel to draw the words out from him in that way that only she in her patience and calm could.

Estel sheathed his blade. "How did you come to be lost upon Mirkwood's borders, then?"

"The trail we follow is not... precise," Firyavaryar answered, turning over to his companion at the other elf's grunt. "There is no need to grouse at me. You know we follow no map. Our path is not along any sort of road."

"And what trail do you follow? Your brother's?"

That drew a response from the cloaked elf. "That is no concern of yours, _echil."_

Firyavaryar laughed. "Nostalion, I did warn you that any that traveled with Legolas would be prone to inquisitiveness. Far too much of it, as always. Such curiosity is expected of men and even some elves."

Legolas knew that Varyar had been indifferent toward the race of men before, but he traveled now with a companion who seemed to hate them. "Please tell me what has happened to your brother, to your sister. They were friends of mine as well, once."

Firyavaryar touched his hand to the rock, trailing gloved fingers along it. "Their fate does not concern either of you. I told you that when I left Greenwood—we had no place here then, and we have less of one now."

"I have told you that you are welcome. Why would you make me a liar?" Legolas shook his head. "You were injured—that is why you sought refuge here. Let us help you. We can treat your wounds and give you a place to rest—"

"There is no rest. There is no cure for what I have," Firyavaryar said, his eyes shifting colors as he let out a breath. "Even were those things possible, we would not linger."

"Someone has taken Sérëdhiel," Legolas said, though he did not want to understand what he now did. "And if she dies, you will fade with her."

Estel made a noise beside him, and Legolas wanted to speak to his friend, but he could not turn away from Varyar now. The bond between him and his family was strong, forged deep and hard in the events that had taken their parents from them and eventually driven them from every elven realm.

"I want to say that you did not fade when your parents were taken, that you would not do it now, but if an enemy sought to strike at you, this is what they would do, isn't it?" Legolas asked. "They would take Idhrenion and Sérëdhiel from you and destroy you not from without but within. Let me help you. Together we can restore your family and give you the peace you have always sought."

"No." Firyavaryar shook his head. "You no longer know me, Legolas, and if you did, you would know that I do not deserve your aid. I will not take it."

"What of Idhrenion or Sérëdhiel? Are they so undeserving?"

"Once I would have said that not even the Lady of the Light was as bright as my sister," Varyar said. "That is not true any longer. You can save none of us, Prince of Greenwood, now go. I do not know what caused us to stray into your land, but it was not the will of anything good. Forget that we were here. Take your _echil_ and go."

Legolas was set to protest again, but the storm broke outside, causing Firyavaryar to shudder, a short cry escaping his lips as he slid down from the wall to writhe on the ground. Nostalion watched him, making no move to stop the trembling.

Estel moved closer. "If he has these tremors, then perhaps some of—"

"Do not touch him," Nostalion said, voice cold. Legolas did not know if prejudice spoke or experience. "You cannot heal him. Leave him."

"I do not understand why he would accept your 'friendship' and deny that of Legolas," Estel told him, and Legolas gave him a small smile, though he feared he was closer to understanding, and that he did not want. Was not the early part of Firyavaryar's life painful enough? Why did he have to suffer now as well?

"Estel," Legolas said, getting the ranger to look at him. "We should go."

* * *

"I don't understand," Aragorn said as the rain poured down on them, struggling to keep pace with Legolas as he headed toward where they had left the rest of his patrol. "I have never known you not to be stubborn in matters like this—why did you leave him?"

"Because I understood—there is little left that Varyar has, and what is left of his pride was deeply ashamed that we were witness to his weakness in the storm," Legolas said, pushing through the now wet foliage as they continued over the uneven ground. "I could not try to call him my friend and shame him further."

Aragorn nodded. He had heard such thoughts before, though everything that he knew said that the elf should have been aided rather than let free to tremble as he had. "I do not like this."

"He will not move during this storm, and while it is not the sort of weather that I enjoy traveling on, I know that I can return before they set out again. In that time, I intend to gather supplies as we will need and they have been doing without for some time now."

The man shook his head. "Do not tell me that you intend to go with them."

Legolas stopped, blinking some of the water out of his eyes. "Why would you think that I would not? It is true that Firyavaryar has refused my assistance more than once, but he has always struggled to see his own worth, and I cannot think he would see it now, not when his family is made to suffer because of him."

"I find many things lacking in what he has told you, but there is one thing I do agree with—his coming here was not the will of anything good."

Legolas shook his head. "I do not believe that. I think he and Nostalion were directed here because they have need of us, need greater than you understand or he feels he can admit. What they face is not the evil that taints the spiders here or the incursion of an orc patrol."

"Because it took his family?"

What Legolas understood through the little Varyar had said—it was good his ability to find things in the barest of hints his friend offered had not failed him yet—was still incomplete, but he knew enough to know some of what was not said, enough to worry him. They were fortunate that they had even the time of the storm—he knew that nothing else save this uncontrollable reaction to the weather would have kept Firyavaryar here when his sister and brother were in evil's hands.

"It is no simple matter to overcome an elf," Legolas reminded Estel. "That they took two and without Varyar preventing it—that is something that speaks to a force that is either great in number or backed with unholy malice—or both. It is true that Idhrenion is poor with directions and a better scholar than he was ever a warrior, but that does not mean that he did not have to learn. All of them endured terrible times before they found their way here and were accepted among us. That time, though, left its mark. They never felt as though they could belong to this place, and in the end Firyavaryar moved them on to settle elsewhere. He moved them many times."

Legolas blamed himself for not knowing where they had settled, for _allowing _this time of separation to exist. The intervening centuries had left their mark on Firyavaryar, and Legolas should have been able to prevent that.

"I have never seen an elf with eyes like that," Estel began. "He is not a full elf, is he? None of them are and that is the cause of their rejection?"

"It used to be he was teased for being part-Maia, however impossible that might be," Legolas said, shaking his head. "Please do not repeat those words. They were the ignorant thoughts of some too young to know better. His eyes are not a sign of a unique heritage. They were not like that before."

"He did not seem blind. They seemed to follow his emotions."

"Perhaps."

Estel took hold of Legolas' arm. "Will you speak in riddles and half-truths now? You know I do not trust this one you call friend. There is a taint to all of this that has not revealed itself, and while you claim at one moment to be aware of it, the next you feign ignorance of what it is you know. You would follow this elf you no longer know into a great darkness, and you try to convince yourself that it is nothing—but you will not convince me, not when you conceal what you have learned. I do not know what he told you—I heard little that gives me understanding of the situation, but if he told you in his mind that—"

"Even Galadriel could not reach Varyar's mind, and your father did try as well, to call him back from an infected wound and terrible fever, but he could not do it. That is why there was no one to ask to find him. He and all his siblings were unreachable in such a way. They were... lost. I do not wish for them to be lost that way again."

"Was Sérëdhiel ever more to you than friend?"

"No." Legolas gave a short laugh. "I do not know why everyone must assume that because an _elleth's_ name passes my lips that she is someone I harbor hidden feelings for. Would you have me paired with Arwen, too?"

Aragorn did not have to hesitate there. "No."

"There are many years yet for me, though sometimes I wonder if the reason the sea calls is because she is already there," Legolas said, and Aragorn could only frown, unable to question his friend before the voices of the others reached them.

"My lord. We had come to seek you," the head of Legolas' guard said. "We have found another trespasser."

"Let go of me, _yrch," _the intruder said, and Aragorn tried not to laugh as he took in the bedraggled _elleth_ struggling in the hold of the soldiers. Her hair was matted to her face, but her eyes were defiant. "Where is my brother?"

"That is not what I would have expected a maiden of the name Sérëdhiel to be."

Amused, Legolas turned to Estel. "That would be because she is not Sérëdhiel."

* * *

"Of course I'm not Sérëdhiel! Don't act like I should be her, either. She has her place, and I have mine, and I want to know what you filthy _yrch _have done with my brother." The young _elleth_ in front of Legolas wanted to seem fearless, but he could see signs of her fatigue and fear. Her words were brave, but they were all she had. She was unarmed, and though she had some physical strength to her, she was as tired and weary as those she sought.

"Firyavaryar has taken refuge in a nearby cavern," Legolas told her, watching her reaction to his words. "How came you to be separated from him?"

"How do you think? He would see me as nothing, as a female only, something to slow him down and keep him from the others. He did not want me with him, and he has tried to leave me repeatedly," she looked toward the cave. "I should have known the storm would fell him. He will not leave without me this time."

"That assumes that we would let you pass," Estel observed. "You did not have permission to cross into these lands."

"Estel," Legolas said, frowning. He knew that the man did not trust anything to do with Varyar, but he did not need to frighten this one who was already half-terrified out of her mind. "What would that matter to anyone seeking the one they are bound to?"

Estel frowned at her. "You are bound to Firyavaryar?"

"Oh, do tell him that one when he is better—you will make him vomit," she said, laughing. Then her spirits collapsed, and she sagged in the hold of the Mirkwood guards. "Do not be a fool. _Idhrenion_ is my bond. That is the only reason I would call Firyavaryar brother. There is no resemblance between us, as you can see, and no love, either."

Firyavaryar's way had always been that of putting himself between the threat and those he intended to protect. In his way, he might have thought he was keeping this one safe by leaving her behind. No, knowing what caused his wounds, of course he thought that.

"Come with us, _neth__," _Legolas told her. "We will go to my home and gather supplies—your brother has need of them though he stubbornly refused them."

She stared at him. "You offered?"

Legolas frowned. "Why would I not? Varyar I called friend for many years, centuries, even, though I knew not where he had chosen to settle."

"You cannot call him friend. You know nothing of him," she said, pulling free from the guard and sitting down upon the ground, heedless of the mud.

Legolas shook his head. "I do not know enough, but I know I will help you and your brother recover your beloved. That promise I have already given, and I will not turn back from my word, not even if this quest takes us deep into Mordor."

She wrapped her arms around herself. "You do not know that it won't."

"That is my choice. Will you come and get fresh clothes and food? Firyavaryar and Nostalion refused them, but if you are not as stubborn as they are, you can have both. I doubt you will rest much, given what you are parted from, but you should try."

Her eyes studied the others around her, wary. He thought he knew of her reasons for distrust, and he would not speak of them here. Soon he would face an unpleasant choice. Estel already knew that Legolas intended to help his friend. He was going to go after Idhrenion and Sérëdhiel whether Firyavaryar wanted him there or not, but he knew that Estel would not want to accept that decision, and he would either try to stop him—or insist on coming with them.

"What is your name?" Legolas asked, extending a hand to her to help her stand again.

"Alassë."

"Will you tell me how Firyavaryar came to find you and how you wed Idhrenion? Last I knew, he had passed from all the realms of elves, thinking they had no place within them, and yet you have chosen Idhrenion. How came that to pass?"

She lifted her head, more defiance in her eyes. Legolas thought she would say no, but instead she gathered her skirts and started walking. "That story would take longer than we have, even with this storm. If you want to be ready when he plans to leave, then we must go now."

"I can see you are well-matched for the Idhrenion I remember," Legolas told her, and she flushed some as he spoke. "You do not think so? Or is it painful to speak of him when you fear his fate?"

Alassë sighed, pushing back some of her hair from her face. "Idhrenion is stronger than he thinks, than Firyavaryar thinks, but there is so little time. They must all suffer already. I must get to him, and that is all I have thought about since we discovered they were missing."

Legolas nodded. Estel looked at her. "How long ago was that?"

"Too long," she muttered, moving away from them. She took a few steps and stopped, unfamiliar with the land. She had not been in Mirkwood before, and Legolas did not know that he thought her from Imladris or Lórien.

"Leave it," he told Estel, watching the man frown. "Wherever their sanctuary is, we have no right to take it from them. We will not ask again. If Varyar found a place of peace, the last thing I would do to my old friend would be to rob him of it."

* * *

"I should call you a fool."

Legolas almost smiled, turning to face the young elf who'd spoken. She was drier now, but that just made her seem more of her age than she had been before. He had not realized how old he was in comparison to Idhrenion and his bonded. "Will you, then?"

"Where is the human?"

"Somewhere about. Why?"

"I do not trust him. I do not trust you, but I trust him less." She folded her arms over her chest, her eyes going to the walls as though she distrusted even them, and Legolas pitied her for that, but he did not think anyone who traveled in Varyar's company would trust anyone outside of it.

"How long ago was he taken?"

"I thought you were not asking about where we live."

"I am not," Legolas corrected. He needed to find a measure of trust with Alassë, that she might tell him more of what he needed to know before they departed. She would be more willing to speak than either of the others—or so he hoped. "I told you that I knew Varyar before, though it has been many years since I had seen him. When I knew him, he did not have eyes of so shifting a color, nor was his hair hacked down shorter than that of men. I know he was wounded. I know not when."

"He carries many wounds. It is not my place to speak of any of them to you," she stopped, shaking her head. "I sound as any foolish _elleth_ might. It is not respect that keeps me silent. You should know why I would not tell you. It is also true that for most of them, I can say with complete honesty I do not know. He has never said anything to me of them—he would not—and I was not present at the time when they were received, not even for his return from them."

Legolas nodded, accepting her words. He would ask for more from Varyar later. "Since you have found me, perhaps you can tell me what else we might have need of. I have seen to food and weapons—"

"We should travel with only what we need, what cannot be spared."

"You consider food and weapons things that can be spared?"

She sighed. "I did not mean the food, though perhaps I have spent too long in the company of Firyavaryar and Nostalion. I did not realize what I said. Firyavaryar would not bother with bedrolls or changes of clothes, nor would Nostalion. They are used to the hard ground."

"Are they accustomed, too, to the smell?"

Legolas turned, looking back at Estel. "It is you men that stink after many days without bathing. Elves would never be so undignified as to smell."

Alassë snorted with laughter, helped by the expression on Estel's face. Legolas smiled at her. She did remind him of Idhrenion in some ways, and it seemed to him fitting that they were bound.

"I seem to recall a prince of Mirkwood that smells after a long time on the hunt," Estel said, leaning against the wall.

"Yes, but that same prince seems to know how to bathe. Even if you have, I can see no signs of it," Alassë told him, taking in his clothes with a disdainful look. "Firyavaryar and Nostalion appear more orderly than you after weeks on the trail."

"Because they are elves?" Estel smiled. "I see. Then if I accompany you on this journey, it will be for your amusement, the man to be the instrument for all elven humor and entertainment?"

Alassë shook her head. "You would be less welcome than I am, even if you are a friend of the prince."

"Because I am a man?"

"Because the friendship the prince feels may overcome what I think you would not, human."

"You could call me by name," Estel said. "I have many, and you may pick your choice of them, but I would address you as Lady Alassë out of respect. Would not you give me some honor in doing the same?"

"I would call no one hope," she said. "Not even my own Idhrenion."

Estel stepped toward her. "I am not as skilled as Lord Elrond, but I have learned much of healing in my years in his house. I promise I will do what I can if we find your Idhrenion harmed. I will even give Varyar what assistance he will permit me to give him."

She stared at Estel, not accepting his words. Legolas touched her arm. "I promise you that Estel is an honorable man. He will help us find your family, and while I would gladly have Lord Elrond with us to help your family, I know we are fortunate to have Estel offer."

"He offers because he does not understand. False pity will do no one good," she said. "The storm is breaking. He will leave as soon as he can stand. Take me to that cave. Now."

He could have grown angry at the words, but he nodded, letting the _elleth_ pass him, taking her out of hearing of their words. He turned to Estel. "I should say something about elvish pride, but I am not in the mood to be humorous. She is correct. We have little time."

"Even she thinks you should not go with them."

"No," Legolas disagreed. "She thinks that I _would _not go with him. That you _would _not. That were they would give no aid to them—only further pain—that we would even _hinder _their quest."

Estel watched him, wary. "Would we have reason to do so?"

"In some opinions, yes."

"In what opinions? Be honest. What is it that you learned that you have been keeping from everyone? What is it that she knows that makes her believe that none would help and all would harm?"

"There is another reason he said you could not heal him," Legolas said, hearing the pain slip into his own words. He did not know how Estel would react to them, and he was still determined to go and give Varyar what aid he could. "The wounds he carries were given to him by the shadow."


	4. Entrances and Exits

**Storms in Middle Earth  
Chapter Four****  
Word Count:** 6,151**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really.**  
Author's Note:** Since this chapter had previously run long, I decided to try splitting it when I decided to repost, but I could find no good place to break it apart, and if I did try to split it, the chapter title no longer worked and I would have felt compelled to try and fill in scenes, ones most likely unnecessary, to add to the next part if I did split it. So, in the end, no change was made to this chapter.

Same warnings apply, though: I do not think much of my skill as a writer for action scenes. I don't know how to improve the flashback where Legolas meets Firyavaryar, and it was a struggle to write the first time.

* * *

**Entrances and Exits**

_The darkness filled him with great regret, giving him nothing but time to remember the foolish promises made, ones that he should never have uttered. He could keep no word, not to himself or anyone else, and what he had here were lies, lies that stole away hope every time they proved false._

_He had tried to believe in the possibility of escape. He had tried to believe in some possibility of rescue, but that hope had gone before the one of escape, and as the darkness remained, his thoughts became a part of it, a new prison that could not summon the light of the outdoors to bring even momentary comfort._

_This place was shadows and death, and it would be where he breathed his last, when he was finally granted that mercy._

* * *

"Morning, _mellon. _You still do not greet the dawn with any sort of joy, do you?"

Varyar lifted his head just a little, managing a rather impressive glare for one in his weakened state, but Legolas knew that was a well-practiced look. His friend had been in the hands of the shadow, after all, and in that place, a glare might have been all he could do, but knowing the other elf as he did, Legolas would have expected him to be defiant to the end.

Legolas had asked for a few moments alone to speak to his friend and attempt to persuade him. It would be easier if Firyavaryar accepted their presence, but he knew it would be difficult to persuade him. Estel remained unconvinced. Legolas did not know that he would fare better with the elf.

"What joy is there in the morning?" Firyavaryar asked, pulling himself up against the wall of the cave. "I am not the crazy sort of wood elf that enjoys all that sunlight."

Legolas held back the teasing remark about orcs that had come to him. Once that might have been amusing, but it was no longer. "I know. We found something last night that I would claim belonged to you, but you'd deny that, and she'd hate it."

"Alassë," Varyar hissed, eyes darkening as he looked toward the opening of the cave. "If you truly wished to help, you would send her home."

"She is bound to your brother. You cannot expect her to be willing to remain here."

"Do not think you are helping by indulging her foolishness in trying to come with us," Firyavaryar said, closing his eyes. "She is not joining us. Nor are you."

Legolas approached him. "I am aware of the source of your wounds. I have no intention of turning away from you."

"Do not claim that the bond we share is that great. What we understood of each other in our youth belongs with that time and not to the present."

"Varyar," Legolas said, reaching to place his hand over the other elf's. To see the hand gloved, to have it against his own bare palm, that he did not understand, even knowing that it must be the work of the shadow. "This is not a time when I will let you refuse. You have need of me, and I will give it. What happens if you must delay for another storm? What do you and Nostalion hope to achieve against the evil you go against alone?"

"If Sérëdhiel dies, none of this will matter."

"And you expect her to die." Legolas sat back, staring at his old friend. "You think she is bait—and if she does die—or you die—that one way or another none of you will survive this. That is why you will not take your brother's wife with you. You do not expect anyone to survive."

"If you know all this, why do you persist in trying to convince me to let you accompany me? I will not relent. There is only death on our path." Varyar pushed himself up using the wall of the cave. "If you wish to help me, keep Alassë here, keep her away from what has come for us."

"She will continue to follow you. You will protect her better if she is at your side rather than on her own," Legolas advised, fighting against the need to help his friend make his way through the cavern. Firyavaryar was still unsteady, but he would not want assistance. What they had seen last night was too much for the proud elf he'd known. "Varyar, if I had known—"

"You could no more have prevented this than you could have your mother's fate."

"Nor could you have prevented your mother's death," Legolas said. "Your words miss their mark. I will not be turned away, not even by that old pain. That was what drew us close in the beginning, that understanding, but it is not the only reason we were friends, and I would not have you grieve the things you speak when you have enough trouble."

Varyar studied him, looking for the truth, and Legolas did his best to keep himself from betraying any of the emotions his friend had tried to use against him. He would allow himself to feel the hurt of those words later, in private. Not now.

Firyavaryar stepped to the outer edge of the cave. He glanced toward Estel and Alassë before his eyes shifted to the north. Legolas wondered if that was where Nostalion had gone. He had not seen any sign of the other elf in the cave.

"Are you alone?"

"Nostalion would not abandon Firyavaryar," Alassë said. "He is here somewhere. Watch yourself, human. He is even quieter than those elves that caught me last night, and I should like to see you jump when he approaches."

"I would not jump. I am a trained ranger. A tracker. I would not be caught off my guard."

"We have no need of a tracker," Nostalion said, and while the ranger did not jump, he did reach for his blade before he forced himself to relax, still eying the dark clad elf warily. Today the hood had fallen back, and while he did not carry the same marks as Varyar—his hair had not been shorn, and his eyes were not altered—Legolas saw a scar that his elven healing should have removed long ago etched across the elf's forehead and down his cheek. Nostalion looked at Alassë. "You should not be here."

"And I told you both before—I will not be left behind. Idhrenion is my bonded. I have every right to go after him, same as you do," Alassë said, folding her arms over her chest. "I am going. You will not stop me."

"You are a fool," Varyar told her. "I will not permit you to hand my brother's undoing to his captors. He will need to know you are safe if he is to survive."

"And would handing you to them be any better? You are brother and father and closest friend to him. How can you think he will not wish for Mandos' halls should you die?"

"You." Firyavaryar answered, pulling his hood over his head. "And the child."

* * *

Once again, Aragorn found himself wanting to shake sense into his stubborn elvish friend, wanting to make him see reason and stop chasing after shadows.

Without speaking to anyone, Nostalion had taken the lead in front of them, with Firyavaryar close beside him. They did not speak as they walked, but Aragorn found their pace surprising. Last night, the elf had been unable to do more than shudder on the floor of that cave, but he moved now as though he had not been ill or injured at all.

The punishing pace might have been for the sake of the _elleth,_ meant to convince her to turn back and stay in Mirkwood. Aragorn found himself agreeing on that point. He had been uncertain about her involvement before, but hearing Firyavaryar say she carried a child made him want her with them even less than he had before.

Not that he wanted to be here. He admired Legolas' steadfast devotion to his friend, but no matter how many times he considered it, Aragorn could not overcome his own doubts about the other elves. The wounds were from the shadows, Legolas had said, and he would not doubt it—there was a haunted look to Firyavaryar that Aragorn had seen before in those that had suffered torture, but most elves who lived through those dark times ended up sailing to the west, so badly damaged was their spirit.

He saw a darkness in Firyavaryar's spirit, a darkness that made him and this Nostalion hard to trust. Aragorn would have felt more at ease if he had known that the shadow's taint was only in the elves' memories, but he heard too much bitterness in Firyavaryar not to worry.

It was said that orcs were once elves, twisted by Morgoth, mutilated and turned against what they once were, against all things of beauty, corrupted and tormented, full of shadows and hate. Did that same hate continue in the other elves? Was this all a clever manipulation to get the prince of Mirkwood away from the relative safety of his kingdom?

Was the ranger just paranoid? They had seen many things in their years as friends, and while some of them were happy, cherished memories, others were dark with despair or laced through with pain. Some carried the weight of death, the greater burden of guilt, and those loads grew harder to bear with the years as they were augmented with each new skirmish, each mortal's passing. Sometimes it was hard to believe that each new road was not a path down to darkness, that the rustle of leaves was not something more sinister than the breeze. Did he now see threats everywhere?

For his heritage, some sought to end his life, to extinguish forever the fires of Númenór and the line of kings. He had known many who would have seen him dead without that reason as well.

Or was he perhaps jealous? He knew that Legolas would display that same kind of loyalty to any of his friends, but he did have trouble with how accepting the elf was of the others after so long apart. He did not seem to have even the slightest caution in him, fighting for the other elf to accept him when he should not. He had no reason to believe that any of the others that he had called friends and would rescue were alive. Idhrenion, Sérëdhiel, the siblings that Firyavaryar supposedly searched for—why were they alive? Why were they not held by the shadow before, as Firyavaryar and perhaps Nostalion had been?

These elves had not said enough to be trusted, and Aragorn knew that he must keep the watch that Legolas refused to take. He should be warier in this company, and if not for his inability to sedate the elf and keep him in Mirkwood, he would not have allowed them to come this far, not without answers.

"Where are we going?"

"Wherever Nostalion takes us."

Aragorn stopped. "You don't know where you're going?"

Firyavaryar looked back at him, his eyes dark under his hood. "I told you—we follow no map. You need not follow us. Our time within the land of Greenwood is already over, and these lands are not a part of your jurisdiction—"

"I am a ranger. My jurisdiction is not bound to a particular realm."

"Not yet, at least," Legolas teased, and Aragorn looked back at him, getting only one of the prince's impudent grins. Firyavaryar spoke in a low tone exchanging his words with Nostalion alone, and the other elf shook his head. "What is it, Varyar?"

"You should not have tainted the heir of Isildur with the darkness we carry," the other elf said, and Aragorn felt a chill at his words. How had the Firyavaryar known? All he had said was that he was a ranger. True, the name he had been given by the elves was Estel, but that did not mean that he should be assumed to be the heir.

Legolas glanced toward Aragorn, an apology on his face. He had not intended the other elves to know. Perhaps that showed some sense yet in him. He had not trusted them with that secret. "I have yet to see this taint you imagine you have."

"Yes, you have. You refuse to acknowledge it." Firyavaryar's lips curved into a slight yet unpleasant smile. "Watch us carefully, ranger. We are not to be trusted."

Legolas shook his head, still unwilling to accept the other elf's words, but Aragorn knew that he would remain guarded, even more watchful than he had been before.

* * *

"_I think they are growing bolder, those orcs," Beridhren said, his eyes still on the trees as they had been almost all day. Legolas would have taken advantage of the tutor's distraction if the other elf's words hadn't distracted him as well. Orcs. He did not wish to think of orcs. "Yesterday marks the third excursion they've made into our land this year."_

_Not long ago, Legolas would have laughed, would have been ready to tease his tutor for his paranoia. Greenwood remained the finest land of all Middle Earth, and Legolas was proud to reside in it, to walk among its trees and hear their words, their songs. This land was home, would always be home, and he could imagine none finer, though he knew that to express that opinion would get him teasing of his own—for these thoughts were the foolish words of an elf not yet grown, not yet possessing the understanding that would come with a long life and many centuries of learning._

_Yet those opinions were from his youth, a youth that he did not know that he still had._

_He could not allow himself to believe that the orcs would return. He could not allow himself to think of his mother's murderers. He could not let himself hear her screams or their cruel laughter. He could not think of orcs._

"_I think that we will see more yet. Darkness is coming to our lands."_

_Legolas' eyes went to the trees. "Then we will fight it and drive it back."_

_The older elf laughed. "You are a brave one yet, and it will serve you well, my prince, but you must learn to temper your bravery with caution. Not every battle must be fought. Not every darkness can be thrust aside at will."_

_Legolas said nothing. He knew of battles that could not be won, of the darkness that threatened his thoughts and stole into his mind at night when his dreams would pull things from the depths that his mind did not want to acknowledge during the day._

"_Orcs!"_

_He jerked his head up at the cry, reaching for his bow. He had not yet completed his training, but he would not run. He knew that hiding would not save him. It had not before._

_The other elf touched his shoulder, pulling him back behind him as the other archers moved in front of him, ready to fire. "Peace, my prince. We will protect you. You must run back to safety. Go."_

_Legolas did not feel reassured. He did not like hiding behind the older elves, and he was not comforted by the words. He had been promised such things in the past, and he was not the only one that had been promised, but she had not been protected. She was dead._

_He stepped forward, making a place for himself with the other archers. This time he would fight. He would not run._

_He readied an arrow, telling his hands not to shake, and he aimed at one of the dark figures running toward them. Orcs didn't attack in daylight, he thought, but then he noticed how the sky had darkened. Twilight had started to fall without their notice, and they should have gone inside, would have if not for his tutor's distraction._

_His first shot was low, hitting the orc in the leg instead of the neck or chest, but it fell anyway, so Legolas was proud of it. He had hit a moving target. He took out another arrow, lining it up in his bow. He watched it sail toward the same orc, and he thought this time he had killed it. He would think on that later. No one mourned orcs, did they?_

_He withdrew a third arrow, aware of how fast the other archers were letting theirs fly, the twang of bow strings and the snap of release, over and over. The sound was comforting in some way—it meant that none of the orcs were getting close._

_He was lining up his fourth shot when one of the older elves cried out, and then more of them did. He turned to see several had fallen, pierced by arrows, and he realized that the orcs that had charged them were only a distraction. He had only finished thinking the thought when he was hit from behind. He had heard something and moved, and that must have saved his life, but the arrow had grazed his head, cutting a path and leaving him stunned and dizzy._

_He fell to his knees, trying to clear his head. Was that arrow poisoned? _

"_Stay down," Ehtyarion told him, and he heard a clash of blades as the elf jumped to meet an orc that had gotten through now that the archers were injured. Legolas should have run. Now he could not._

_The orc fell over him, knocking him into the dirt. Legolas struggled to breathe with it on top of him. Beridhren looked down at him, but he did not move closer, did not push away the orc. "Patience, my prince. Let this one's foul stench conceal you from them until we have driven them off."_

_Unable to move, Legolas had to accept that decision. He could not follow the battle from here, not when his head ached and his vision was obscured by the orc. He had to be patient, but he was afraid. The sound of the archers had moved away, and he wanted to believe it was because they were driving the orcs back, but if they had all fallen..._

_He closed his eyes. His head hurt too much now, made worse by the smell of the orc. He struggled out from under it, looking around at the devastation. Three archers lay with arrows jutting from their chests, and he did not know if they drew breath._

_Beridhren pulled his blade from an orc and came toward him. "You should not have moved yet. They may be readying another attack. Some have gone to pursue them, but we must get you and the other wounded—"_

_Beridhren's words cut off as he groaned, the tip of an orc blade jutting out of his side. Legolas stared, reaching for a weapon from the orc that had covered him as the one that should have been killed by Beridhren limped forward. "Time to die, little elf."_

_Legolas gripped the sword, trying to prepare himself to fight. The orc was wounded, but so was he. He kept seeing more than one. He did not know that he had the strength to swing the blade. The orc snarled, attacking, and Legolas met the blade with his only to have the sword knocked from his grip. Unbalanced, he fell backward. He thought he would be sick, disgracing himself right before his death. This should not have happened, not again. He should have been stronger, been able to prevent this. He should have been able to protect himself—but he had not protected his mother, and now he would die because he was small and weak._

_The orc fell at his feet, and Legolas jerked at the thud. What had just happened?_

_He watched as an elfling not much older than him leaned down over the orc. He pulled out a knife that was no proper weapon from the orc, grimacing as he did. He let the black blood spill onto the ground before looking at Legolas. "That one was yours. I should not have claimed it."_

"_Do you count them?" Legolas heard himself ask, wishing that he could stand—or at least see clearly. He did not want to think of what he himself had done in that battle, no impressive number—he owed his survival to the Beridhren and the others, to this elfling that he had never seen before, one he did not believe was from Greenwood at all._

"_There is no need to count what cannot be forgotten," the other elfing said, looking around at the elves around them. "Our timing is poor."_

"_No. I owe you my life. I cannot think your timing at all ill," Legolas told him. "Nor will the others who have not yet fallen into Mandos' halls. You may have saved not only my life but that of my tutor and these other archers."_

_The elfling frowned, worry in the look he gave Beridhren. "Do not make of me such a hero. There was one orc, and it was more dead than—"_

"_Varyar!" A small voice called, and the other elfing turned. Legolas thought he might run, this stranger who had helped him, run to silence that voice. "Is it safe now?"_

_Legolas was not certain that there was such thing as safe, and he felt a deep sadness at all the pain that these elves suffered, those that had fought to protect him and the land. They needed help. He could not carry all the wounded back on his own, and Beridhren might die before they got him help, if he was not already passed. He started to rise and stopped, watching as Varyar was embraced by two elfings younger than himself, both clinging to him. If the orcs returned, what fight would they have in them? All of them were children._

"_We were worried, _gwador," _the young _elleth _said, her voice shaking a little as she spoke._ "_You could have been hurt. You said we were just going to wait until the fight was over and pass after the orcs were gone. You said we were not a part of it. You said we had to hide. You were not supposed to go and fight. You are no warrior."_

"_No, I am not." Looking down at his sister with great tenderness in his eyes, Varyar smiled. "I was not injured. The orc never saw me, and he was no threat, weakened as he was by the others."_

"_Your name fits you," Legolas said, and the other elf frowned at him. "Varyar. Protector. That is what you are, isn't it?"_

"_Firyavaryar," the elfling corrected with another grimace. He looked to Beridhren, troubled. "These others... they will not last if they are not helped soon."_

_Nor, Legolas thought, would any of them. Even with the way his head hurt, he could see the fatigue in the youngest, holding to his brother as though he would collapse if he loosened that terrified grip. "Come. We must do what we can for the wounded and get word to my father of what has happened."_

* * *

"Where are you taking us?"

Estel's question got only a look from Nostalion before the other elf turned away, quickening his pace as he did, climbing over the uneven terrain without heed. Legolas knew that his friend wanted answers, and he knew that his faith in Firyavaryar was not enough, not for Estel, perhaps not even for him. Too many questions had been left unanswered.

"What are you? Guide? Tracker? If you know where these others are, why do you not say so? Why do you lead without words?" Estel demanded, increasing his pace to meet the other elf, trying to catch hold of him. A confrontation would come. Questions would be asked and answered, or there would be a fight, and Legolas did not know that it could be avoided.

"You will find that Nostalion speaks less than I do," Firyavaryar said, moving closer to Estel, placing himself between man and elf.

"Is such a thing possible?" Legolas teased, hoping to keep some peace among them. "I remember you as a very quiet sort, at least until Mithrandir let you experience silence for that time. After it, as soon as we stopped speaking, you would—it was as though you felt compelled to fill it or were afraid that you might never hear again."

Nostalion tensed, touching Varyar's arm. "This wizard put you under a spell?"

"A long time ago. As a lesson." Firyavaryar shook his head at the other elf's expression. "No, it was not one of _those_ lessons, not like the ones that you and I were forced to learn later. No, _gwador, _it is nothing. Do not think it as anything more than... a prank."

"Can you call such a thing that?" Nostalion asked, and Varyar closed his eyes, pained. Legolas grieved to think of what his friend and Nostalion might have suffered.

Estel looked at them, still suspicious. _"Gwador. _You call him brother? You did not say so before."

Varyar gave the man a look. He did not speak much, did not trust strangers, and why should he have mentioned that Nostalion was so close to him? Legolas knew no one could replace Idhrenion in his heart, that the bond was too deep, but for Varyar to give that honor to Nostalion—they were close indeed.

"He is my sister's bonded. Were I capable of sentiment, I might call him brother of my heart. We are... alike." Firyavaryar did not smile at Nostalion, did not acknowledge his words to Estel.

Legolas smiled. "I have thought that of Estel many times, though I have no sister for him to steal. Does this make Idhrenion jealous?"

"No."

"Often," Alassë disagreed, getting a dark look from both of the other elves. "He does not much care for my cousin, nor my cousin for him. Sérëdhiel is often forced to make peace amongst us, and without her, our bickering is constant and often bitter. Those are interesting nights in the court of Lord Firyavaryar, valiant protector of all. Idhrenion will find something from the old texts to insult Nostalion with, and if prodded enough, Nostalion counters with something only an orc would say. Sometimes that is enough to scare Eruaistaniel. She skitters off like a mouse."

"Alassë—"

"Then, descending from on high comes her majesty, Queen Sérëdhiel and with the advent of her presence, a soothing calm settles over everyone as if by magic she has taken away all of the trouble from the world and once more we are family."

Legolas knew that her words were an exaggeration, but he had found Sérëdhiel's presence and her words calming in the past. If Sérëdhiel died, she would take everyone with her. Nostalion, her husband, Firyavaryar and Idhrenion, her brothers, and if Idhrenion died, so would his wife and their child. Someone sought to destroy the whole family, someone who knew the precise way to do it.

"Sometimes I think you and Idhrenion are still elflings," Varyar told Alassë, though Legolas heard some grudging affection in his voice as he looked at his brother's bonded. She smiled back at him. "Do not fill the human's head with such foolishness. He would not have the sense not to believe it. As beloved as my sister is, Sérëdhiel is not that powerful. There are many things that she cannot heal."

"Including you?" Estel gestured to Varyar's tunic, damp with something that was not water and could not be sweat.

Nostalion let out a low curse that had everyone else tensing. Firyarvaryar answered in the same tongue, and Legolas felt a chill overtake him.

"That is the black tongue of Mordor," Estel said, his hand on his sword, "spoken by the servants of the shadow—"

"They are _not_ servants of the shadow," Alassë said, moving between Estel and the others. "Can you not see that they have _suffered _at the hands of the shadow? Not everyone who knows that language knows it by choice."

"I will not apologize," Firyavaryar said, his voice cold. "There was a time we knew no other language, when our own was nearly forced from our minds, when all good and light was driven away as well, when pride was taken and spirits broken..."

"Why did you not sail?" Legolas asked, wishing he could aid in any measure his friend's suffering. "Was it because of Idhrenion and Sérëdhiel?"

"The gulls do not call me. Their shrill cries and squawks are a warning—I am not welcome in Valinor," Varyar said, and Legolas felt his own chest tighten in anguish for his friend. "The taint of the shadow is too strong."

"Varyar, _mellon-nín, _you—"

"This wound is nothing. We continue."

* * *

"We should rest. Alassë is fatigued, and even if you think you are not wounded, you are," Legolas said, taking hold of the _elleth_ and helping her sit down. She leaned back against the tree, closing her eyes. Nostalion and Varyar watched from the edge of their makeshift camp, conferring in their same silent manner.

"You may as well leave them. They have those kinds of conversations often," Alassë said. She put a hand over her stomach. "Thank you for persuading them to stop."

"I wish I could persuade him to let me help more."

"What would you do?" She asked, shaking her head. "He has not healed in over a century, and nothing you or your _echil_ can do will change that. His hair will not grow back, his eyes will not return to what they were, and he will still suffer through storms."

Grieved, Legolas turned away from her, unable to find a response. He knew there was nothing he could do, but he did not want to believe it. To be refused entry to Valinor, to be trapped with no hope and such darkness, knowing that the only relief—death—would take those that Varyar loved...

Estel came over to his side. "Legolas?"

"I am well."

"You are not. You have always felt for your friends, and you do so now."

Legolas nodded. "All Varyar has ever wanted was peace. To have that denied, over and over, to have Valinor denied him... He continues for his family, he continues because they need him, but he does not want to, and it pains me to know that."

Estel touched his shoulder. "Rest, _mellon-nín. _You cannot help if you, too, are weighed down."

Legolas gave him a slight smile, hoping that this meant that Estel was accepting his choice to help Varyar, that he understood why the other elf was worth aiding. He leaned against a tree, watching Estel secure the camp, his mind caught in many directions, his heart heavy.

"_Come on, Maia. Show us the spell that you used to bewitch the prince."_

_Legolas stopped, frowning. The voices had come from ahead in the halls, but that made little sense as Mithrandir had departed weeks ago. Why would they be discussing spells or Maia now? There was no need of that._

"_I am not Maia—"_

"_Oh, pardon, you're _half-_Maia. That's right. That's where you get all that spellcraft from, isn't it?" Nengalen asked, and Legolas winced. He had been the first to make that joke, teasing his friend for his interest in what Mithrandir did and his understanding of it, saying Varyar must be part-Maia to get along as well with the wizard as he did._

_That was only a joke._

"_No, he's not Maia. He's _Avari," _Tirweg said, turning the word into an insult. "He came here, pretended to save the prince just so he could get close to him, whispering terrible things in his ear as he seeks to corrupt him, to bring Greenwood under the shadow's thrall."_

_That was enough. Legolas knew that it was likely that Varyar's parents _had _been Avari, since they were unknown in any of the elven realms, but that did not make him any kind of sorcerer. He stepped forward, preventing the two elves from insulting his friend further. Shocked, guilty silence greeted him from Tirweg and Nengalen, but Varyar's silence was angry as he pushed past the others._

_Legolas hurried after him. _"Mellon-nín, _if they are bothering you—"_

"_It is nothing."_

_He did not believe that, but Varyar did not linger for him to try and talk about it. He had long ago learned the palace better than most who had lived their entire lives there, ducking in and out of the passages with a speed that did not help the rumors that now followed him. Legolas sighed. Why was it so difficult for others to understand? Would they never accept _any _friend of the prince without assuming that he was trying to bend the kingdom to his will?_

"_Legolas, have you seen Varyar? He is late."_

"_He encountered Tirweg and Nengalen," Legolas answered, looking back at a worried Sérëdhiel. Firyavaryar was rarely late, and of course that would have drawn her notice. "I did not manage to speak to him for more than a moment afterward."_

_Sérëdhiel sighed. "He would not want to discuss that."_

"_How much does it upset him?" Legolas asked. "I know I have told him that their words do not matter, that they are only jealous, but he will not speak to me of it. He would speak to you, though. How much does it hurt, what they claim?"_

"_Firyavaryar would not be bothered by words." Sérëdhiel lowered her head. "He would have us not worry that they are jealous, not for him, but for you. He thinks you should not try so hard to remain his friend. Were you more distant, their accusations would have less foundation."_

"_There is no need for distance."_

"_Do not fool yourself. We are not good friends for the prince of Greenwood."_

_Legolas wanted to tell her that she was wiser than that, this _elleth_ who brought calm to everyone she met, one who could rival Galadriel, Lady of Light—not in beauty but in that radiated sense of peace and understanding—but she would only remind him that everyone had something to say about his choice of friends. He had duties, obligations, and his friends should reflect that. _

"_Do you know why I value your brother's friendship above any other?" Legolas waited, but Sérëdhiel offered him no response. She was like that, keeping her own counsel most of the time. "It is not, as they believe, because of that day he killed the orc. It is because he is the only one I know who understands what it is like."_

_Her eyes closed. "You speak of when your mother died. You think only Varyar understands that."_

"_Because only he does. Others have lost mothers and sisters and brothers and children. My father lost my mother as well, but he lost a wife. He did not lose his mother. He did not see it happen. He does not know that fear and helplessness. I have spoken to many, but only your brother's memories come close to mine, to understanding that. The desire to fade, the obligation to remain..."_

_She flinched. "I am honored that Varyar felt he could speak to you of it. He has never said anything to me or Idhrenion about what he saw when our mother died. Yet I know how helpless he felt he was. I know how he wanted to fade. I know we are what kept him here."_

"_I am sorry. I did not mean to cause you pain."_

"_I know that." She drew in a breath, opening her eyes as she faced him. "Neither do I want to cause you any. Still, I—Varyar has not spoken of it, but he believes we should leave before we cause further division here. I know how much you value his friendship, and he does this because he values yours just as highly. He will not let you be brought down because of us."_

"_Sérëdhiel, he will listen to you. Convince him to stay. Please."_

_She shook her head. "I agree with him. This is not our place. We will not stay."_

Legolas jerked himself back into awareness, blinking in the darkness that had fallen. He had not thought he had been lost in memories for so long, but night had settled in around him. He saw Alassë asleep against the tree, and he would have expected Estel to be on watch, but he had fallen into slumber as well.

Rising, he scanned the trees for the last two members of their party, but he knew before he searched what he would find. Nothing. Firyavaryar and Nostalion were gone.


	5. Whispers and Warnings

**Storms in Middle Earth  
Chapter Five****  
Word Count:** 5,619**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really.**  
Author's Note:** I may, someday, have to write something that tells this story from the point of view of the original characters because they're not the sort that would tell anyone else about those moments. That was brought to my attention, to my dismay, when Alassë pulled her whole code of silence thing on me again, and I thought that belonged only to the other concept she'd been a part of, not this. She said otherwise. And so she made progressing the plot rather difficult on me.

While this chapter was the one that led me to having such doubts about this story and leading to me reworking it, adding scenes and reposting things, I do have a strange fondness for it. It is, I think, because I liked Alassë talking to the tree, even if I am taking several liberties with the concept of the Avari.

The incident that Legolas mentions with Firyavaryar playing a prank on Idhrenion when he talks to trees is detailed in _Family Trees._

* * *

**Whispers and Warnings**

_The silence of the darkness became chastising, a taunt almost from the first day that he had found himself in this torment. He knew that he should not have come, that he should not have trusted, not even himself, and he knew what a fool he was for doing so. Now that he was here, he was well-punished for that mistake._

_He had suffered, and he would have said that he had been tormented enough, but the darkness and his own guilt did not agree with him. He had only the company of that silence, having lost all else here, having betrayed himself and everyone else with his insistence on coming._

_He would not live, but then he did not deserve to live._

* * *

"Estel."

Aragorn forced his eyes open, feeling wearier than he had been in some time despite the fact that he must have been sleeping and could not recall any sort of injury. What Legolas had found on patrol had been his former friend and another elf, not spiders or orcs. They had not battled anything, and even the trip through the storm had passed without injury. The only one hurt was Firyavaryar, unless something had happened to the child that Alassë carried.

"Legolas? What is with the air? It feels... heavy."

"Something here has caused us to fall into slumber, and I fear that Varyar may have had something to do with that."

Aragorn pushed himself up, not thinking he that he could have heard right. He would not have expected Legolas to say anything against Firyavaryar. Whatever had forged their friendship at first remained sharp and strong to Legolas' mind and heart, allowing for no one to speak ill of his friend. That he would accuse the same friend of causing this unnatural sleep was surprising, though Aragorn had anticipated something like this—he had expected much worse.

"How do you know that it was Firyavaryar?"

Legolas let out a breath. "I do not know what else to believe. We all slept, and while we were slumbering, Nostalion and Firyavaryar left."

Aragorn nodded. He had seen no sign of them, but he had not thought he would. As his head began to clear from the strange sleep, he began to see all that the elves had done to create this situation. They had kept the pace brisk to exhaust everyone, had diverted all questions regarding where they were going and how they were to get there, and speaking of a blocked entry to Valinor could well have been meant to distract Legolas, making it easier for the elves to do whatever it was that had caused them to sleep.

"It is close to dawn. We can return to Mirkwood."

Legolas shook his head. "No. We cannot. That is, _I_ will not. Once before I let Varyar leave because he believed it was best for me, and he has suffered for that choice. He suffers still—and someone would kill his entire family. I will not be so easily dissuaded."

Aragorn rose, combing his fingers through his hair as he tried to think. "Are you still convinced that this is about Firyavaryar's family?"

"You are still convinced that this is about me? You still believe that Varyar intends to harm me?"

"I still worry that he might," Aragorn admitted. He put a hand on Legolas' shoulder. "At best, your friend has made it clear he does not want you to accompany him. He does not want your help. At worst, he is luring you into a trap, one carefully created by the shadow that still holds sway over him."

"Varyar would not succumb to the shadow. Not while Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion live."

Aragorn could have argued against that. Centuries had passed since Legolas had seen this elf. He had believed Firyavaryar dead. He did not know that Sérëdhiel or Idhrenion even lived to have been taken in the first place. He did not realize the threat of the words he had just spoken—if Sérëdhiel or Idhrenion died, it might not be grief that took hold of Firyarvaryar but _shadow. _It already had hold on him, and that hold could grow—it might be growing now.

"We cannot go after them without knowing where they are going."

"Are you, great ranger, pride of the Dúnedain, the last of the line of Númenór, saying you cannot track two elves, one of whom is wounded?" Legolas sounded almost amused. "You are telling me you cannot track two elves when an untrained and unarmed _elleth_ can?"

Aragorn looked over at Alassë, his mind distracted from the insult even as he took in the words. "I want answers before we go further—and were we both incapable of tracking Firyavaryar—and we are _not—_she can."

"Estel, while Alassë speaks as one without fear, she is not. She carries a child while her husband is in the hands of something evil—perhaps even the same evil that tried to claim Firyavaryar before. Her situation is... delicate."

"I agree, and I do not intend to harm her—surely you do not believe that of me—but if we are to go forward, do you not think that we should learn more? I am—I value your loyalty as a friend more than I can say, Legolas, but I cannot be as sure of your friend as you are. We need to know how long they have been searching for his family. We need to know who might have done this. We need to know how long they suffered within the shadow's grasp. Those things and more she can tell us, and we _will _ask. Otherwise I might have to tie one foolish elf to a tree until he learns to value his own life as he does that of his friends. If it is true that Firyavaryar left because he wanted to protect you, do you think he will be happy if you rush right back into danger? At least let us know more of the foe we face."

Legolas let out a breath, and Aragorn was pleased to see that his words had reached his friend. "Very well. We will wake her and see what she is willing to tell us."

* * *

"Your brother has gone again."

Alassë laughed. "Is that all? You sounded almost worried there, and why would you be worried?"

"That is not fair. Legolas cares for your brother," Estel said, and Alassë looked at him coldly but made no attempt to apologize or justify her actions. What had men done to her and Nostalion that they hated them so much? Varyar did not seem to carry the same hatred, only the indifference he'd held before, though he'd acknowledged Estel as Isildur's heir and wanted to keep his supposed taint from the throne of Gondor as well as that of Mirkwood—there was still respect there, something noble within the one that kept trying to claim he was undeserving, the one that people—one person, at least—kept trying to tell Legolas was _undeserving._

"Sérëdhiel said you did," Alassë said, addressing her words to Legolas and ignoring the ranger. "I thought the stories only Idhrenion's fancies for well over a century. The idea of his brother being friends with a prince... It was something only his addled brain could have created."

Legolas frowned. "That is how you speak of the one you bound yourself to?"

She laughed. "Oh, Idhrenion and I fought for a century and a half before anyone could convince us that our squabbles were a sign of something else. We were threatened with a lifetime's imprisonment with each other, and Firyavaryar _did _trap us in library for a full week before we were willing to work together to escape. Before then, Idhrenion just sat with a book and tried to pretend he couldn't hear me. I was not amused, not at the time."

"I imagine not," Estel said, though he looked like he would enjoy hearing that story in full, as Legolas thought he would as well. "Did you hit him with a book?"

"More like a dozen," she answered with a smile. "Idhrenion has a hard head."

Legolas laughed. How he had missed this family. Their laughter had always been a great comfort, and it would have been even more so as Greenwood darkened into Mirkwood. He wished that he had not let Firyavaryar go. He had told himself he respected the decision, but he never had. He might even have been angry for his friend for making that choice, with Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion for supporting it.

"Do you know where your brother and Nostalion were going?"

She stiffened. Estel's change of subject was abrupt, and she had reacted accordingly. "No. I don't. They don't follow a map. They told you that."

"Then what do they follow?"

"Nostalion. There is no hunter or tracker in Middle Earth like him. No man, no elf, no dwarf, no Maia, no orc, no unholy spawn from Mordor could do what he can. Only he knows where they are going."

"He would not tell even Varyar?"

Alassë hesitated. She folded her hands over her stomach. "You do not understand, and it is not for me to tell you."

"We need to know—"

"I am bound by oaths," she said, drawing her legs up close to her body, her skin going pale as she spoke. "I will not break them. What I have told you is already more than I have said. I have never broken those oaths. They are a promise and a threat, and I cannot betray them. Do not ask that of me."

Legolas took hold of her hand. She trembled, and he shook his head. "I swear, we do not intend to harm you. Calm yourself. Please."

She lowered her head, shivering. Estel watched her with concern and growing anger.

"Is it Firyavaryar that binds you with this promise? Or Nostalion?"

She shook her head. "You do not understand. Stop asking me."

"If it is Firyavaryar or Nostalion who terrifies you with such a promise, Estel will not stop hunting them until you are free of it," Legolas told her, and she bit her lip, blinking back tears. "It is not them, is it? It is something else—_someone_ else. Perhaps... other members of your family?"

She did not give an answer in words, but something passed in her eyes that Legolas accepted as an affirmative answer to his question.

Estel looked at him, having seen the same thing. He turned to her. "Is your family of the Avari? Is that why you fear them?"

"They do not serve the dark lord," she said, shaking her head. "They never did. That is not what they are or were. But there are _rules. _You do not break them."

"Someone close to you did," Legolas said, knowing his words were true. "Was it Nostalion or Firyavaryar?"

"It was not—It has nothing to do with what happens now," she insisted. "My family did not take them. There would be no need."

"Then who did?"

"I do not know. I would say it was the same twisted being that tortured my brother and cousin, but they could not have escaped him unless he were dead, so how can it be him?" She shook her head, getting frantic. "I do not know. Do you not think that if I knew I would go directly to them? That I would not negotiate or bargain or beg? I want my husband back."

Her strength was almost gone, and Legolas could see that. He would not allow any more questions. They should have stopped when her fear of her family showed itself. He drew her into his arms. "Peace, _neth. _We will ask you no more today."

She tried to pull away from him. "Whether you ask me today or tomorrow, it will be no different. I have no more information to give you."

"No, you do."

"Estel—"

"Tell us how you tracked them to Mirkwood. How you were able to keep up with them when they keep trying to leave you behind."

"Oh, that is simple," she said, a strangled laugh coming from her lips. "Have you not noticed how poor the weather has been? One terrible storm after another? _That _is how I kept pace with them."

* * *

"_It is not fair that Beridhren likes Idhrenion more than me. Have you seen the assignment he gave me? I shall be in those dusty tomes for the next century."_

_Legolas laughed, enjoying the expression on his friend's face. He had been fortunate to have that assignment bypass him—though he thought it would have been him if not for the latest prank Varyar had played. "Did you remind him that you saved his life?"_

"_He has somehow rewritten history to believe that was Idhrenion and Sérëdhiel, not me. I do not even get credit for killing the orc—_you _do. I do not know why he has taken such a great dislike to me, but unless he is replaced as my teacher, I shall never be considered educated," Varyar muttered, leaning back against the wall._

"_I think he would have liked you better had he not inadvertently walked into the trap you set for Idhrenion."_

"_The trap _I _set for _Idhrenion? _That was the one you set for me, not one of mine—mine do not miss their targets."_

"_Yes, but you did not _tell _him it was one of mine. You let him think it was yours," Legolas reminded him. Varyar grimaced. "Perhaps it is not that. Perhaps he sees your brother as the more dutiful scholar."_

"_He is not wrong—Idhrenion finds comfort in books. They are all we have of... them."_

"_I know. He has told me he fears he will forget your parents if he does not read those same books over and over," Legolas said, though he did not understand that. Idhrenion did not seem to forget anything. He knew the lines of Elven and Edain kings, and he would have the entire first age memorized soon enough. He already knew enough to rival scholars who had studied for centuries, and he remembered those facts better than they did as well._

_Varyar pushed away from the wall. "I would be a better student if I was interested in the subject. History... It all seems so long ago, so meaningless."_

"_Are you sure you're an elf?" Legolas asked. Firyavaryar glared at him, getting Legolas to laugh. "You _are_ immortal, you know. History is not just history to us. We lived most of it—or _will _live it."_

"_Says the little prince, but I am not going to rule a kingdom someday."_

"_No, you're going to be my most trusted adviser. I'm going to ask you all about history and war and every decision that I have to make."_

"_You are not."_

"_Yes, I will, if only because it will annoy you," Legolas teased. "I don't know that I'd ever end up ruling anything, but if I did, I'd want a friend at my side when I did."_

"_That is why you would have a queen. Only someone delusional enough to believe they loved you would be willing to stay by your side," Varyar told him, and Legolas reached for him, but the other elf dodged his hand, running down the hall. _

_Legolas chased after him, rounding the corner and running right into his back. "Ouch. What was that? Since when do you do such convincing imitation of a rock—Varyar?"_

_His friend shook his head, bumping him again when he stepped back. "I... That was... What were we doing?"_

"_Chasing each other through the halls, or at least _I _was. I don't know what you were doing. Are you feeling well?"_

_Varyar reached up to rub at his head. "That _elleth_ there... She reminded me of my mother, and I don't know why that made me see it all again—Sérëdhiel looks so like her; she resembles her in looks and voice and temperament. I see her every day, and I am not upset, but I caught only a glimpse of that one and..."_

_Legolas saw his friend shudder, and he reached over to touch his arm. "Sometimes it is the strangest things that remind us of what was lost."_

"_Lost? I got her killed."_

_Often, Legolas had felt the same about his own mother, but this was the first time that Firyavaryar had said anything of that. He did not speak of his parents often—he had answered the king's question about where they were and nothing more, not even to Legolas._

"_How?"_

"_How what?"_

"_How did you get her killed?"_

_Firyavaryar shook his head. "I did not say that, did I? I would not. I did not. It is—Idhrenion must be having his revenge on me somehow. I have been completely unsettled, and this is not like me. I think I should go."_

"_Did I ever tell you of my mother?"_

"_No. And you should not. I am not worthy of your confidences. I told you—I would not remain at your side. I am not your adviser—"_

"_You are my friend, aren't you?"_

_Firyavaryar did not answer._

* * *

"What are you doing?"

"Tracking. Or did you mean Legolas?" Aragorn asked, looking up at Alassë. He would have thought she'd mean Legolas, since she disliked men and did not seem inclined to change that opinion—not that their conversation that morning would have altered things for the better. He had not meant to hurt her, but as he had no knowledge of those she feared almost as much as losing her husband, he had done so.

"I care not what you do, ranger," she said, her tone a bit haughty. He thought she wore it as a shield, as many did, hiding behind their pride to conceal their fear. He did not know what to do with her—a part of him was convinced that they should send her back to Mirkwood, only he was aware that if he suggested it, Legolas would give him that task while pursuing his friend on his own and also that she would not remain where she should. She had already proved that.

"Is that true?"

"Firyavaryar called you the heir of Isildur," she said, shaking her head. "Is that supposed to matter to me? I do not think so. The return of the king of men does not hold out hope to someone like me. Perhaps you think it should, but there are those of us to whom kings and queens mean little, to whom the changes in politics do nothing to alleviate their difficulties."

"You do not have to be forsaken because you are Avari. Whatever terrifies you about your own family, you should know that the other realms would still be open to you. Legolas would welcome all of you gladly."

"He might. Others would not."

Aragorn nodded. He could not deny that. "Some might not, but there are enough that would. You may have been told that the elves of the other realms are prejudiced, but that is not true of all of them."

"What would you know of it?"

"I was raised by Lord Elrond in Imladris. I call him father and his sons brothers. Not everyone welcomed my presence, but they are still my family."

She watched him for a moment, and he did not know what thoughts passed through her head as she did. "Do you tell me this because you wish me to stay behind? Is that why you insist on trying to track them yourself?"

Aragorn was not the sort of man who believed that women had no place as fighters, that they must always stay behind and be protected, and he knew some mothers who would fight with more intensity than any hardened soldier when her children were threatened. He knew of women who healed, knew of others who fought, and he also knew ones that took no part in either activity. Still, he did want her to return back to Mirkwood. He did not want to risk her child, and he did not trust her family.

"Do you know much of tracking? Or fighting?"

She tensed, and he frowned. Was she not supposed to talk of her training, either? She had not seemed to have much, but then if her companions were untrustworthy, so was she. She might not carry any child—that might have been another lie.

"Legolas is talking to the trees," Aragorn said, allowing the subject to change rather than upset her again. He had not forgotten how pale she'd become earlier.

She frowned. "He talks to the trees?"

He nodded. "I'm told all elves can, though wood elves do it more than others. Did you never hear of such a thing before?"

Her eyes went to the branches above her, and she reached out to touch the leaves, her expression distant. He did not think she was all with him at the moment, and he did not know if that was a vision or if she was communicating with someone or something.

"I have heard whispers before, ones that seemed to come from the wind, but I did not think that it was the trees..." She smiled as she toyed with the leaf, and Aragorn did not think she was still aware of his presence. Still, he did not understand. She might have been Avari, but she was an elf. How was it that she did not know of their connection to nature?

She must have been lying.

Aragorn heard something behind him, and he turned. Legolas, seeing that he'd gotten his friend's attention, motioned for him to join him away from Alassë. Aragorn nodded, leaving her with the tree, trying not to be bothered by her actions.

"She says she knows nothing of speaking to trees. Even if she is Avari and her family did not do that, Firyavaryar and his family lived in Mirkwood with you. Surely they know of it."

"There is a story I should tell you sometime about what Varyar did when Idhrenion tried to talk to the trees—it was amusing to the rest of us, though not for him as he swore he would not attempt to speak to a tree again no matter how long he lived. I think, judging from her reaction, he kept that promise. It is possible that Sérëdhiel would not have said anything to his bonded knowing how much it would distress him."

Aragorn thought Legolas wanted a way to excuse every doubt that rose, even after what happened last night. Firyavaryar and Nostalion had tricked them and left, and yet Legolas still wanted to believe in them. "What did the trees tell you?"

"They are worried."

"After meeting your friends, I think I agree with the trees."

Legolas looked at him, a faint smile on his lips. "Do you not realize that you are counted among my friends? You have just insulted yourself as well."

Aragorn shook his head. "You know who I meant."

"Yes. I do." Legolas glanced toward Alassë before looking back at Aragorn. "Do you know what is almost... amusing about all this?"

"What?"

"I think if you had known Varyar when we were younger, you would have liked him."

* * *

"_Legolas?"_

_He looked up, pushing back his blanket as he sat up, looking into the night. He hadn't been able to sleep, not after that conversation with Firyavaryar. He did not understand what had gone wrong. He had thought that for once, despite the nickname of "little prince," that he had met another elf that did not think of him only as the prince of Mirkwood. Varyar did not treat him as a prince, did not bow or use titles or refuse to train with him, was not afraid of injuring him, either._

_He had known some in Imladris, but he did not visit there often. To have one here, one that he could see every day, that was a gift._

_Why was it now that Varyar had decided that he was _not _a friend?_

_Legolas did not know. He'd lain awake all night trying to understand it, and he did not know that he had an answer that satisfied him. He had ones that he _wanted _it to be, but he knew that he was being overly hopeful._

"_Is that you, Varyar? You are so dark you blend in with the shadows."_

"_I feel as though I am a shadow," the other elfling admitted, stepping into the moonlight. "I came to... to talk about earlier."_

_Legolas tried to find a way to continue that conversation, but he did not know how. In the end, he had to ask the question that bothered him the most. "Why did you not say that you are my friend?"_

"_I am not a wood elf."_

"_So? I have friends in Imladris and I know others in Lórien. Why would you think it matters that you are not of Greenwood? It doesn't."_

"_I have not seen Imladris. I have not seen Lórien. I don't know those lands or their people," Varyar said. He lowered his head. "I think my parents must have been what your people call Avari. I don't know—I don't remember enough of before we were constantly moving to know where we were born or where we might have stayed. You already know that we are not... typical elves. No one here has siblings so close in age to each other as I do."_

"_That is not wrong. I think your parents were right to have you all so close—it gives you other elflings to play with and a closer bond between the three of you than I have ever known siblings to be—other than Lord Elrond's twins." Legolas crossed to him. "I do not care if your parents were Avari. Even if you do not take the journey, you can still be my friend."_

"_I do not know that I don't want to take the journey," Varyar whispered. He looked up at Legolas. "I... I wanted to fade after _Nana_ died. I couldn't. _Ada_ was. He faded so fast... Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion needed me, and sometimes I hate them for that. I wanted to go."_

_Legolas wanted to throw his arms around the other elfling. "I didn't think anyone else had ever... When my _nana_ died, I wanted to fade. I didn't because of my _ada,_ and sometimes I want to hate him, too. I didn't think—I thought I had to be the only one who felt like that."_

_Varyar snorted. "I think more elves feel that way than will admit it. The strangest part of it is that I... I resent my father for fading. It seems so... weak. I don't—it is not logical."_

"_I don't think feelings are logical."_

"_No, I suppose they're not."_

"_So... you _are _my friend? You just weren't willing to say you are because you're possibly Avari?" Legolas asked, though he thought he already had that answer. He didn't need it anymore. He shook his head. "It does not matter if you are Avari. What matters is that you have been a friend to me ever since you pretended to kill that orc."_

"_Pretended? What, you think that was some kind of ruse to gain your trust?"_

"_No," Legolas insisted immediately. "I don't. I would never think that. I was just teasing you. That's all. Don't you know when I'm teasing you yet? Or... Has someone else accused you of doing that? They truly believe you tricked me into being your friend?"_

"_I've heard a few rumors, yes."_

"_Well, they're wrong. I don't like just everyone that helps me fight orcs. You are different. No one tricks me into being friends, either. I'll be friends with anyone I _want _to be friends with, not who I'm told to be friends with."_

"_Be careful. Keep talking like that, and you'll end up friends with a dwarf next."_

_Legolas laughed. "I don't think _that _will happen. It would have to be a very special dwarf."_

"_I am no special elf."_

"_I don't need a special elf. I need a friend."_

"_Then you have one." Varyar shook his head. "No, you have _three."

"_Three?"_

"_Sérëdhiel, Idhrenion, and me."_

* * *

Feelings were difficult things to master, to understand. Some thought that elves did that, that they managed over the many years of their long lives to force all of them under control, that they never got out from that control. Some called them heartless, unfeeling. Their long years had led them to forget how to empathize with anyone, but especially the mortal races.

Legolas did not believe that. Some of them carried their pride too far, yes, but that did not mean that they were not capable of great affection. His friendship with Estel was proof enough for him.

His need to believe that Varyar was still the friend he'd known, still the friend he'd promised to be, was that some kind of foolish youthful hope that he clung to, or was it a complete leave of his senses? Estel urged caution, and yet even after what Firyavaryar had done, he found a way to excuse the other elf's actions, to dismiss every doubt.

He did not know if he was just stubborn, if it was pride or loyalty. Varyar denied being worth that friendship, so why did Legolas think that he was? Why did he want so much to be a friend to a stranger? Why did he still want to believe that the stranger was _not _a stranger?

Even the trees did not think that he should trust Firyavaryar.

Why did he refuse to listen? If he could talk to Varyar alone, the way that they had done when they were young, when Firyavaryar was less guarded and yet still difficult to know, when they had found a moment, brief as it was, when they were both open with their feelings before going back to not talking about them, to hiding behind laughter and pranks to keep the pain away.

Somehow he knew that he would not be satisfied until he had one more conversation like that, one where he had the truth, no matter how terrible, from Firyavaryar himself. He needed hear more than what Varyar _wanted _to tell him, than the attempts to push him away.

Estel put a hand on his shoulder. "Legolas?"

He looked at his friend. "I fear my mind was occupied. I have been trying to reason on my actions, but I fear that they are... unreasonable. Illogical."

"Why do you smile when you say that?"

"It is what I told Varyar centuries ago—feelings are not logical." He gave Estel another smile. "We had such a strange way of understanding each other. And, yes, before you ask, I _do_ think we did understand each other then."

"I did not say that you did not."

Legolas sighed. "Forgive me. It seems that all along I have been told not to be friends with him, even by him, and while I can understand some of those reasons, I cannot make myself agree with them. I have been trying. I would like to get Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion back, but even if we have no part in that, I must speak to Firyavaryar again."

Aragorn nodded. "I do not like leaving Sérëdhiel or Idhrenion to this shadow, if they are in its grasp. I am not trying to be... heartless. I _am_ concerned. These elves behave strangely, even for elves, and I find myself distrusting them. Even Alassë. Her story about not knowing that she could talk to trees—"

"Varyar told me he remembered little, not enough to be certain that he was Avari. We know nothing of their customs. Perhaps they are unwilling to listen to nature as well as the Valar." Legolas turned back to look at the _elleth. _"Alassë, what did the trees tell you?"

"That they are worried," she said, frowning. "It was strange, at first, speaking to them. They said they'd tried to speak to me before, but I did not listen. I think I did not want to know."

"It can scare some. If you're not accustomed to speaking to nature, it might be unsettling."

"It did not bother me until they started asking me about Firyavaryar," she said, turning a leaf over in her hand. "They asked me about Idhrenion, about our plans for the baby. It was nice to have a moment to ignore all of this and act as though my child's future was not uncertain, that my husband was just on the other side of the clearing or something. Then they talked of the shadow, of Firyavaryar and Nostalion."

"Did they?" Estel looked at Legolas. "Did they talk to you about them?"

Legolas nodded. "Yes."

"And you did not want to tell me what they told you about them, did you?"

Releasing a breath, Legolas turned to the trees, acknowledging their wisdom and their assistance. "They told me that we are going further into the darkness following them. That the shadow is within them and surrounding them."

"All of that you already knew," Alassë said, folding her hands over her chest. "Why are you acting as though it is something terrible? If you are not willing to meet the darkness, go back now."

"It is not that which concerns me," Legolas said. "Shadows have been growing around us for many years. Some hunt us. Some do not. No, what concerns me is that they said that Varyar is growing weaker—and another storm is coming."


	6. Reunited in Storms

**Storms in Middle Earth  
Chapter Six  
Word Count:** 3,656**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really.**  
Author's Note:** Having moved the scene where Aragorn comes to Mirkwood from this chapter to what is now the second one, I decided that not only did it need a snippet from the elf at the beginning but also I wanted to add in another part from the past, and I may have gone a bit too far with Legolas' last line in it, but it made me laugh.

So this is everything I had posted before, and the story is caught back up to where I had left off before deciding to rework it. The next chapter will be completely new.

I apologize for any confusion and the broken follows/favorites, and I did hate losing the reviews, but I did think the story needed to be fixed, and I think it is much better now. At least, I hope so.

Also: I have written out the story that Legolas and Aragorn discuss in this chapter and posted it as a separate story, so if you want to see the whole tale of that vow, look for _All Creatures Great and Small._

* * *

**Reunited in Storms**

_He would love to feel the rain again, a good cleansing rain, the kind that started life again in the forest, that brought hope with each drop. Rain could be destructive, too, but even that would be a relief after the pain and darkness. He would just like the rain to be clean, but if he felt rain, then he would know he was free, and freedom was that dream that he kept holding onto, a faint hope when he told himself that hope was gone._

_He would dream of home, of green trees and soothing rains, of warm sunlight and laughter. When he woke, he knew hard stone, dirt that irritated his wounds, cold darkness, and silence. He knew that dreaming meant more pain, but he did not know how to make himself stop._

_He no longer wanted to dream, though he would give anything for a bit of rain._

* * *

"Why are storms so difficult for your brother?"

"Something to do with the wounds the shadow gave him, but I cannot tell you specifically—I do not know. Idhrenion suggested once that it was an ugly curse, but Firyavaryar refused to tell him, so I cannot say if he was or was not. I do not believe he ever told Sérëdhiel of all his injuries, and though Nostalion must know, it is not like either would disclose that to me," Alassë said. She pushed back her hair from her face and looked up at the darkening sky. "Does it matter? The storms allow us to find them, and that is what we want, isn't it? Or have you become so convinced in the evil of my brother and cousin that you have no desire to seek them any longer?"

"You are waiting for that moment to come," Aragorn said, knowing it to be true. He had seen little from the _elleth _besides suspicion. "You have expected it all this time, and yet again you are to be disappointed. Legolas seeks his friend, and he is not the sort that turns away from those he calls friend, not ever. You would never know a more steadfast companion."

She snorted. "That is an assumption that you should not make, ranger. I remind you that I know Firyavaryar. I know the depth of his devotion to Idhrenion and to Sérëdhiel. I know how close he is to Nostalion and that he would even give his life for me because his brother loves me and for Eruaistaniel because she is his sister's dearest friend. No, I know devotion. I have seen it—and I have seen the ugliness of its cost. Yes, I expect you and the prince to turn away. Had either of you sense, you would already have done so. It is not as if Firyavaryar has been other than plain with you: he goes to his death. That is why he wants none of us with him."

"I thought his purpose was to free his sister and your husband." Aragorn looked over at her. "If you know that he is to die and believe it, why do you go along?"

"Because while Firyavaryar is right that I would be Idhrenion's undoing if I fell into the hands of his enemies, he is also right that if Idhrenion is to survive what he has endured and the loss of his brother, he will need me and the baby. He will need... hope."

"And Nostalion? If he fails and Firyavaryar dies, what becomes of Sérëdhiel, who he seeks to rescue? Is this Eruaistaniel to be her solace?"

"No. Eruaistaniel is likely already dead."

Aragorn stopped, taking hold of the _elleth's _arm as he understood her meaning. "Why did no one tell us that another had been taken?"

"You did not ask." Alassë said, yanking herself free. "And what would she matter to any of you? You know her not, you did not even ask about her when I mentioned her before. She is nothing to you, and I suppose it does not much matter in any case, for her spirit was fragile even before this."

"Yet it would grieve you and Sérëdhiel," Legolas said. "I do not understand your unwillingness to tell us what we should know. Nor am I willing to accept that this must be Firyavaryar's end."

"I think much has passed to where he has little desire to live, and I think the last of hope is gone from him now. He has failed his family, and there is one atonement for that—death. What you seek to save him from is what he wants." Alassë stopped, leaning against a tree and pressing a hand to her head. "I do not fear for my husband in what he must endure—I fear for him in what he will inevitably lose. His brother is so much to him and has been all his life. He barely remembers his parents, but Firyavaryar..."

Legolas nodded. "Well I remember how he took care of them, how close they clung to him in those early days of their stay in my land. They did not go with anyone unless he said to, and they kept to themselves, taking on me—his friend—as their own because they did not wish to be parted from him. Sérëdhiel said once that his return after their father's fading was like an answer from the Valar."

Alassë shook her head. "I do not see how the Valar could have had anything to do with it. They do not help those that reject the journey."

"Varyar had not completely rejected the journey. I think he would have taken it if he felt it was available to him, but you heard him—he does not."

She shook her head, pushing away from the tree again. "It matters not whether he can take the journey or not. He will still die when this is done. Nothing you can do will change that."

* * *

"_Varyar! They said your fever broke with the storm, but I almost didn't believe it," Legolas said, ignoring the looks of all the older elves as he jumped onto the bed next to his friend. Firyavaryar was still pale, so scary pale, and Legolas' dreams had been full of his friend's death instead of his mother's for once. He did not want to think of losing the other elfling, couldn't. He knew he had other friends, and he would want their company even more if anything _did _happen to Varyar, but he didn't want to think of that. No long stay in Imladris would replace Firyavaryar's company. He had to stay now, didn't he? _

"_You're alive."_

"_I am not sure I feel it," Varyar said, though he turned away from Lord Elrond's gaze as he did, no doubt ashamed to insult the elf-lord's skill at healing. "How did you manage not to get at least one scratch, little prince?"_

"_You know I'm bigger than you now," Legolas said, annoyed, but he had to smile, unable to stay mad now that Varyar was going to live. "I am so glad you are better now. _Hannon le, _Lord Elrond, for taking care of my friend."_

"_Of course," Elrond said, nodding to him. "Now I think we should let these two young ones talk amongst themselves."_

_Legolas smiled, covering Varyar's hand with his as the elder elves left the room. He crawled up next to his friend and wrapped his arms around him. "Do not ever scare me like that again. You are not allowed to leave."_

"_I rather think it would have been better if my death served some purpose, but since it has not, you have to know that I _must _go. You keep saying that it will all be well, but what happened in the forest proved that. It is not safe for you in my company, and I will not remain. My family and I will go. We are not wood elves. We do not belong in Greenwood."_

"_No," Legolas said, shaking his head. "You cannot go. I need you—you are my closest friend, and I cannot lose anyone else. I still see my mother's face when I try to sleep. I pass by that painting and I can't look away from it, even though it hurts. I want to see _her, _not what those orcs did to her. I can't bear that kind of grief. Do not ask me to part from my friends. Please."_

_Varyar let out a breath, sounding weary. "I cannot tell you that I do not know that feeling, that I do not feel the press of guilt and shadow on me, the weights that would swallow me, but we are not the same, Legolas. Where I have a growing darkness, you still have light, and clinging to the dark will just extinguish your light, not save you like you think it will. I am Avari. It is time we both accepted that and stopped fooling ourselves into thinking that what divides us can be overcome."_

"_The only thing that is dividing us is you. You have to stop listening to what those idiots are saying about you. You're a good friend to me, you always have been, and that matters more than what we were born. So I am a prince, and you are not. So I am a wood elf, and you are not. None of that matters in the friendship we share. It has never done so."_

"_You will be making friends with mortals next."_

"_I don't think I would ever want to be friends with someone mortal," Legolas said, shaking his head. "I cannot lose anyone else. I do not know how to cope with the loss of my mother. There are still moments when I would like to fade—how could I ever befriend a mortal?"_

"_If you can befriend an Avari, you can do it. You are not always going to be terrified of loss, but I will always be Avari."_

_Legolas looked at him. "If I prove that I can be friends with a mortal, does that mean that you will stay here?"_

"_No. That would be a stupid reason to befriend a mortal."_

"_True. That means you'd better stay. Or me and my mortal friend will come hunt you down."_

* * *

"Can you tell anything beyond the rain? Any shelter that Firyvaryar might have taken?"

Legolas shook his head. This storm felt unnatural, so heavy did the rain fall and fierce did the winds blow, and if he did stop to listen, what he could tell beyond those noises belonged to something else, something of the shadow. "We will have to keep searching. I can make out little besides the foul voice on the air."

"Foul voice?"

He nodded. "Someone has summoned this storm. It is as Alassë said. There have been more storms of late, and this one is, I believe, directed against Firyavaryar and Nostalion. Someone does not want them to reach their destination."

Estel did not look at Alassë, lowering his voice. "Are you certain that it is working _against _them? Could it not be set _for_ them? Were they sent to draw you into this, their attempt to leave you behind would have to be stalled by a storm, wouldn't it? They have almost guaranteed your trust, haven't they?"

"Do you think me such a fool, one so easily tricked?"

"You wish to believe in the goodness of your friends, and you found a reason to do so in what you believe was his attempt to protect you. I am only trying to show you the other side. I do not wish for your friend to betray you, but I still know it to be possible."

Legolas nodded. "I know. Your dream still unsettles you. You have chosen to see it as a portent."

"You would tell me it isn't?"

"Firyavaryar once ambushed a patrol of orcs for my sake," Legolas told him. "He and I had been arguing over his decision to leave, and in our angry exchanges, we neither noticed nor cared that we had gone close to the border, not until the orcs were upon us. We were both injured—I remembered seeing his blood, seeing him fall. I fought in a frenzy then, caring little for what happened to me—all of my anger had come out of a fear of losing my friend—and it was a mistake. The orcs overwhelmed me, even with what we had done to thin their number. They rendered me insensible, and I had only barely awoken when Varyar staged his ambush. He must have run hard to get ahead of us, and I still do not know how he managed that shot since his arm was cut by a poisoned blade. He did little more than that—it was a graceless rescue, for once he fell upon the orcs, he was once again injured. He had, however, taken down three of them, and in doing so, he gave me a weapon, so I finished our escape. Nevertheless, I embarrassed him greatly with tales of his heroism—or so they said."

"You do not know?"

"He was insensible with fever for days, and we did not know if even your father's skill could heal him. As soon as it did, though, he gathered his siblings and was gone. I heard they were in Imladris for a time, but after that, no one knew of them."

Estel frowned. "You had mentioned that _Ada _treated him, but you did not say when. And _Ada _made no mention of it when he urged me to seek you out to see if you were unharmed. Does my father have the same doubts about him as I do? Is that why he wanted me to come?"

"I do not know how your father felt, though when he met Varyar, he did not seem concerned. He worked diligently to heal him, and I do not think that he would have allowed them in Imladris if he had thought that Varyar or his family were a danger to anyone."

"Can we debate this _after _we have found the place where my brother has taken up shelter? It is cold and the voice on the air—its malice presses against me in a way that makes me fear that my child will not survive the night," Alassë said, grabbing hold of Legolas' arm. _"__Please."_

He had thought he had seen her scared before, when she spoke of the rules by which she was bound, but he was mistaken. This was fear, naked and all consuming, making her even more pitiful in her drenched state. She was paler than before, washed out and trembling.

"Estel," Legolas began, but he did not have to say anything else. The ranger lifted her up into his arms, and she did not protest as he carried her forward. She was in a poor state, indeed, and Legolas did not know that she would have been able to stand for much longer had the man not intervened.

They had to find a place of shelter—if not the same one as Firyavaryar and Nostalion had found, then somewhere else, but with his senses blocked by the storm and the one behind it, Legolas did not know how they would manage it.

"This way," a voice said, and Legolas almost drew his weapon at the sudden appearance of Nostalion. "You should not have come, but as you are here, as you have let her come to this state, then you must join us."

Estel did not argue. He nodded. "Lead on."

* * *

"This is rather a large burrow, and I do not think we should disturb the creature that made it," Legolas said, peering down at the entrance that Nostalion had led them to, one that they would not have found on their own. Aragorn still did not know what had made the elf come for them, but he had to be grateful that something had compelled him out of the shelter and to where they had been.

Yet as Aragorn looked down at the hole, he knew he agreed with Legolas' sentiment, for whatever had dug its path through the ground here was large and likely to be very territorial. They should not try and use it, not even for a night.

Nostalion grunted, going inside without hesitation. Legolas sighed. "Whatever this was home to before, it is no longer."

Aragorn nodded. They both knew that the creature must be dead, perhaps killed by the same fire that had been used against the spiders in Mirkwood. Nostalion returned to the burrow's opening and took Alassë from Aragorn's arms, holding her against him and speaking in a low tone to her as she clung to him. She seemed to prefer her cousin's hold, but with her fear of men, that did not surprise Aragorn. He ducked into the burrow, taking a position just inside. Large as the creature might have been, this was not intended as shelter for three elves and a man, even if one of those elves was smaller than the rest and mostly covering another as she recovered some from her pitiful state in the rain.

"Varyar," Legolas said, kneeling down beside his friend, who had most of the other side of the burrow, sprawled as he was on the dirt floor. "Oh, _mellon-nín, _I would take this pain from you if only I knew how."

"There is nothing to be done. The storm must pass," Nostalion said, diverting his attention from his cousin for a moment, though his words undid the good he'd done in calming her. She shivered, burying her face in his tunic, and he lowered his head to hers, speaking softly to her alone.

Legolas turned back to Firyavaryar. "At least tell us who does this to you. I hear a voice on the air, and I think you know its source."

The other elf did not lift his head or cease his shuddering. "I told you if you wanted to help to take Alassë with you, to protect her. Now you have helped her here, and that voice... That voice may know of my brother's child despite what I have done to prevent it having such knowledge."

"If you would tell me your troubles, then perhaps I would not blunder and make them worse," Legolas said, reaching to cover Firyavaryar's hand. Aragorn shook his head. This was not Legolas' doing. He was not the one making things worse. It was their distrust that kept hurting everyone, that would cost Legolas because he was so steadfast a friend, and Aragorn could not see any way of stopping it. "Please, _gwador. _Why do you run from my aid again?"

"I did not ask for it."

"I told you it was yours," Legolas said. "You have given me your help many times—do not tell me that was centuries ago—and I still owe you debts that I have not paid. You know this as well as I. How can you expect me to pay those debts when you will not let me?"

"I do not ask of you those debts. I never have. What I _did_ ask for you denied me." Firyavaryar pushed himself up against the burrow wall, and Legolas stared at his tunic, at the stain that had almost overtaken all of it. He could not shake whatever horror passed through his eyes then, perhaps reliving that moment he had spoken of when this elf had saved him and almost died, not that the elf's state now did not seem critical. Left untreated, that wound would certainly be fatal, even for an elf.

Aragorn crossed the burrow, touching Legolas' shoulder to comfort him, and the prince covered his hand with gratitude, though his eyes did not leave his old friend. Aragorn moved forward, trying to get a better look at the elf's injury. Firyavaryar jerked away, hitting the wall of the burrow with a pained hiss of breath. He had seen foolish elves before, had known some of them very well, but this one was worse than most. He did not know if it was prejudice or pride that kept him from accepting aid, but this had gone on long enough.

"I have herbs that can stop that bleeding. I always carry them with me, and I was well trained in the house of my father, Lord Elrond. I have cared for elves before, even a certain headstrong prince we both call friend. Let me assist you. Do not be so stubborn and prideful. This human is not going to poison you."

Firyavaryar laughed, a horrid sound that made Alassë shudder in Nostalion's hold. "Do you think I am afraid of you? You cannot scare me, even if you are the heir to the throne of Gondor. Do not touch my skin. You cannot help me."

Aragorn frowned, struggling to control his temper. In another minute, he would grab the elf and force the herbs upon him. "I know you were wounded by the shadow, and most of that is well beyond my skill, but that does not mean that I cannot help."

"You are the one that is being stubborn now," Firyavaryar said, leaning back and closing his eyes. "Do you know any other elf that wears gloves? Did you assume that it was because I was scarred by the shadow? What mark upon my hand could be worse than the one in my eyes? I am not vain, nor is it prejudice that keeps me from allowing your touch. I would not even let Nostalion help me. I have not. I _cannot." _

Legolas whispered something that was either a prayer or a curse as he shook his head, still struggling with his friend's injuries. "Varyar..."

"Do you not understand yet, mortal? It is not you that would poison me. _I_ am the poison."


	7. Your Words Are Poison

**Storms in Middle Earth  
Chapter Seven  
Word Count:** 3,022**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really.**  
Author's Note:** This chapter ended up being a lot shorter than I'd thought, and I blame that on Firyavaryar. The confrontation he has with Aragorn was overdue, not that Aragorn had much of a chance to talk to him alone before, but now that he has, things that should have been said were said and now...

Now another kind of storm is coming. ;)

Oh... The song is the one Aragorn sings in the Fellowship, of Beren and Lúthien, once again as transcribed by the arwen-undomiel site. I had almost used a song of my own making, but it sounded more like a drunk hobbit song than anything an elf would sing, so I went back to the site instead.

* * *

**Your Words Are Poison**

_The sound of anyone approaching might have been a comfort at this point. Without it, there was only darkness and the recriminations of his own thoughts, and those thoughts continued to darken as time passed in some indeterminable way, the moments blurring and yet lingering all at once._

_This was the place where even the most steadfast and optimistic of souls would find themselves questioning their faith, relinquishing their hope. _

_Hope._

_Hope was gone. Gone far from here, and he knew that he was the reason that it would never return. This was his doing, his error, and he could not atone for it._

* * *

"You are poison?"

Firyavaryar nodded, closing his eyes again. "What I touch becomes tainted with shadow. Some of it dies that instant. Some does not, but the way it lingers is not something to hope for."

Legolas looked at him, trying not to show too much pity, knowing how proud his friend could be, but he did not know how not to feel pity for Varyar's condition. He had before he knew of this part of what his friend suffered. This, though, was worse. When was the last time that Varyar had felt able to touch _anything? _He had been denied the comfort of his family and all the world around him.

"I may not be able to touch you, but I still have herbs that could help," Estel said, and Legolas looked to him with a genuine smile. Despite his misgivings about Varyar, he _was _willing to help, and Legolas appreciated it. In all the discussion of devoted friends, they had forgotten one—Estel himself.

"They have the opposite effect upon me," Varyar said. "I do not know exactly what it is that flows through me, but whatever it is, the standard cures become like poisons of their own. As do storms. I... Thank you for what you have offered, but I cannot accept it, nor is it necessary."

"Stop talking as though you intend to die." Alassë's voice was weak, but it still had some measure of strength to it, a fire in her character that she had shown before, one that Legolas admired and thought she needed to cope with her family and Varyar's. "You will find another way."

Varyar's eyes shifted to Estel and then to Legolas, and something flickered in his eyes before he shook his head. "There is none, Alassë. Rest. Now."

"You should do the same," Legolas told him, covering his hand. "I have not accepted this fate that you would give yourself, and I will not allow you to assume there is no other option. This has not ended yet, and there is still hope."

"Your _echil?_ Do not make me laugh," Varyar said, but the teasing went out of his voice and his expression at the end as the tremors overtook his body. He pulled away, curling into himself.

Legolas removed his cloak and wrapped it around his friend, ignoring the protests of the other elf as he drew him up against his side. Estel and other healers would not approve, but to Legolas, holding Firyavaryar seemed the only right thing to do. "Do you remember, Varyar, when we were younger and Idhrenion managed to trap in that dwarf-forsaken cellar after we told him we burned his treatise? We had more space then, though there was a storm that night, too. Do you know what the valiant protector do to make us forget that we were both a bit scared of the storm and the dark?"

Varyar didn't answer. Legolas didn't know that he could talk, not with the way he was shuddering. Estel looked over at them. "Is this when he pledged to protect you from whatever came looming in the dark and it turned out to be a mouse?"

"No, Estel, though I do remember enjoying your vow to protect us both from the squirrel," Legolas teased, laughing as he did. He thought that even Nostalion was amused by that short tale. He would tell the whole thing at a later time, when Varyar was truly able to appreciate it.

"There had been worse than squirrels pursuing us before we took refuge in that cave," Estel said, defensive, and Alassë laughed.

"Peace, Estel. I will speak no more of it, especially as that pledge was never the sort of thing Varyar would make, was it, _mellon-nín?" _Legolas looked down at Varyar with a smile."No, this one, he decided that he should tell a myth that would terrify any young elfling about a terrible dark being that wanted to kidnap young elves and turn them into an army of corruption."

"And yet you seem amused by this story." Nostalion frowned. "Why?"

"I did not know that I was amused, but I do know that I have always considered it a most unique way of handling the distress of a situation—thinking of something more terrible than where you are." Legolas held on tighter to his friend as Varyar's tremors worsened. "It is something I tried and failed to employ myself."

"That is because you are a wood elf and therefore more optimistic. We Avari are not that stupid," Alassë said, but she smiled when she did, and Legolas thought that he had been accepted by her.

"Alassë." Nostalion did not say more than that. He did not need to. She lowered her head, and Legolas did not think she would speak again before morning.

Legolas leaned down to Varyar's ear. "I should not have spoken so lightly of your tale. When we were younger, it seemed a brilliant strategy, but now... Now you are living at least one part of that horror, and it is not fair to pain you further. I only meant to—I suppose speaking of the past was no better."

"We were both very foolish elflings," Varyar said, pain in his voice. "It would be better if we had both forgotten those days."

* * *

"Elleth alfirin edhelhael, O hon ring finnil fuinui a renc gelebrin thiliol…"

"_If the _elleth _you're singing of is my sister, I am afraid I will have to commit treason and kill you."_

"_Varyar!" Legolas grinned, scrambling down from the tree to join his friend on the ground. He rushed over and embraced him, having missed his friend while he was gone. He did not know why his father had sent Varyar away, but he did not like it. He had heard some talk, stupid things, and he knew two elves that were behind a lot of it, since their fathers were advisers to the king and thought that they themselves should have that position with the king's son._

_Legolas did not want advisers. He wanted friends, and Firyavaryar was his friend, one he wanted close. He had others he counted among that small number, but with the twins in Imladris, the other lords there occupied as well, with Mithrandir always wandering, he did not have as many near him as he would like. Even the older elves amongst his father's people seemed to have no time for him. Varyar was a comfort, one that no one understood, for Legolas could not speak of their mutual losses and what bound them so tightly together._

_He embraced his friend heartily, glad to have Varyar back home where he belonged. Firyavaryar pushed him back. "I was not jesting. If you think you can marry my sister—"_

"_Peace, _mellon-nín. _Dear as your sister is to me and much as I value her wisdom and counsel, her heart is far removed from mine. She is as my own sister might be, and I have no wish to part you from her company. I know of no one who tempts my heart."_

"_Then why were you singing of an _elleth?"

_Legolas looked at him. "You have not heard the tale of Beren and Lúthien? Of the elf-maiden who gave her love and her life to a mortal?"_

"_No," Varyar answered. "Do not look at me that way, little prince. You know I am not of your people. I am not a wood elf, not of Lórien, nor Imladris. I know little of these things you have been told as a part of those realms and one free to go between them. You have seen all that, but I will never be so privileged.__"_

"_I do not think you would be so unwelcome as you think you would," Legolas told him, shaking his head. "I thought that the tale was in your lessons and Beridhren would have forced you to learn that one, but then I had forgotten how much you hated history, you strange elf."_

_Varyar gave him a slight smile. "I am Avari."_

_Legolas sighed. He did not know why Firyavaryar kept insisting on that. He didn't think that Varyar was Avari, at least not in any typical sense. "There may even be those who would think they should convert any Avari to one who would take the journey, don't you?"_

"_I don't know. It does not seem like many would welcome what I am even if they thought I should be persuaded from my wrong course, not from what I have seen thus far."_

_Legolas touched his shoulder. "Do not let the words of a few jealous elves discourage you. You are my friend, and for that—and I fear that alone—you are distrusted and hated. I do not understand this, but I do not want to lose your friendship because of it, either. Was the errand _Ada _sent you on so terrible?"_

_Varyar looked away. "I did not know that your father enjoyed the company of wizards."_

"_He sent you to meet Mithrandir? Mithrandir is back? Oh, this _is _a good day indeed." Legolas said with a smile, but then he__saw his friend frown. "Are you... afraid of wizards? I thought that tale you told in the cellar was just a tale, but if you think that he will harm you—No. I won't let that happen."_

"_I do not think you can stop it," Varyar shook his head. "Avari are servants of the dark lord. You know this."_

"_Not all who refused the journey chose to follow Melkor. You would not choose to serve a dark lord, so you have nothing to fear from Mithrandir," Legolas insisted, taking his friend by the arm. "If he has intimidated you, it is because you let him, not because you need fear him. Come. I will introduce you to him properly."_

"_I do not want to see the wizard again."_

"_Mithrandir is not the sort that you should fear. He is... There is great wisdom in him, and many elves value his company, though few appreciate his habit of smoking a pipe," Legolas said, laughing as his friend frowned again. "You did not think the Istari could smoke? Or that one would?"_

_Firyavaryar's expression was troubled, and Legolas wished that he could do something else to ease the tension in his friend. He had not seen this kind of distress from Varyar, not ever. _

"_I do not know what to think of your Mithrandir, and I do not know much about the Istari. I am not sure what to think of him, except he did spend a long time studying me as we journeyed to the palace. I do not think that your father is as accepting of our friendship as you think. He asked Mithrandir here because he does not approve of me."_

_Legolas laughed. "I'm sure Mithrandir has other, far greater concerns than our friendship. This is not about you. You are not a threat to the kingdom. He'll see that. Everyone will."_

_Varyar looked at him. "What if I am a dark servant? What if this is just an... illusion? What if I only seem to have control, but I don't? What if the Dark Lord rises again and he claims all Avari—"_

"_He won't. Even if he claimed all the others, he'd never claim you. You're stronger than that."_

* * *

"I almost thought that we would not find you when we woke this morning," Aragorn observed quietly, watching the elf across from him with interest. Firyavaryar was the only other to remain in the burrow, the others having departed to deal with their physical needs, he assumed. Legolas had mentioned seeing to their food, but Nostalion had gone before him, and Aragorn could only hope that he had taken his cousin with him.

"I assure you, _echil,_ were it within my power to leave, I would already have done so," Firyavaryar said, and Aragorn did not doubt his words. The elf was stubborn, and he did seem determined to leave them behind, even after all that Legolas had done to help him. If his words about the poison within him were true, then his reluctance to be around the others was understandable, but Aragorn did not know how the elf thought he would get his family back in his state.

"That is as it may be, but you cannot think you can save anyone if you cannot save yourself."

The elf glanced toward the burrow's mouth. "It is Legolas who seeks to save me. That is not what I expect, not what I have ever expected. I do not want him to follow me. If you are truly his friend, stop him, now, because what comes will cause him great pain and even death. This is what he follows, what he seeks, and you should not let him go after it."

"Why will you not tell him what you truly face?"

Firyavaryar pushed himself up to where he could sit. "There is no fear in Legolas' heart, not that he would give voice to. Once, perhaps, when we were children, but I knew even then that fear would not last. He is brave, he has had to be, and that bravery is as noble as it is foolish."

"I think he would try to say that about you."

"No, mortal, that compliment is yours, for there is nothing in me that is noble. Whatever might have been was long since purged from me if it existed at all. Do you not know why you are here? You must save him from the doom he tries to bring upon himself."

"He said you saved him once."

"He is mistaken. I saved no one."

"I saw something like it in a dream, though I did not recognize you in it."

"As I said, I saved no one. I am not the sort of elf you are accustomed to, for I have met Lord Elrond and he is noble and wise and gifted in healing—in many things, in fact, but he is, despite being only half-elf more of the sort that the Firstborn are expected to be than any of my line could ever have claimed to be." Firyavaryar started to rise. "I know that Legolas will not be turned from this path by choice, and I do not have the strength at present to stop him by force, not unless I expose him to what poison I carry within me, one for which there is no cure. You will stop him—or I will, but your method would be less fatal."

"You tell me this and then expect me not to cut you down where you stand for such a threat?"

The elf smiled, that same unpleasant one he always seemed to have when he spoke to Aragorn. "If you are a friend to him you will not, for you know how loyal he is. He will struggle to forgive you, and perhaps he might, if you could convince him that I am the threat you know me to be, but neither of us has managed to make him distrust me yet."

Aragorn grimaced. That was true. "If there is no nobility in you, why do you keep trying to send him away? Why do you not act against him?"

"I will not risk Thranduil's wrath coming against my family. It would be a foolish thing to do—set them free only to let him kill them to avenge his son."

"Are your motives never plain?"

Firyavaryar laughed. "No, they are not."

"The story you told Legolas in the cellar about a dark being that sought to make young elves into an army of corruption—was that true? Is that what has happened to you?"

"I am no longer young, and this corruption would hardly make for a fit army. Since the ring survived, the Dark Lord survived. He will return. Why would he not want an army of corruption? Is that not what orcs are, corrupted elves? Why does such a story have any meaning now?"

"It is one of few things I've heard of you. Legolas did not mention you before we came across you. Yet he seems to feel so strongly for you that he will defy all reason to help you."

"And you do not understand why?"

Aragron did not. He did not see anything in this elf worth the devotion that Legolas was showing him, even if he had supposedly saved his life once. "I have tried, but all I see in you is reasons for doubt."

"Then you see clearly, which is something he has never done with me. When we met, he had recently lost his mother. He was easily exploitable in his state, filled with guilt for surviving and grief for her passing. All in the court wanted that control, and so he picked someone outside of it to give it to, a cherished illusion in his mind, someone who understood him, that guilt and pain and grief, and for an Avari that came along in time to save his life with a similar tale to tell... It was easy for me to be what he thought he wanted."

Aragorn grabbed the elf's tunic, lifting him up. "If you were manipulating Legolas all along, I will risk the poison of your skin to plunge my blade deep in your treacherous heart—"

"Estel!" Legolas' voice interrupted him, sharp with fear. "What are you _doing?"_


	8. Knowledge in Battle

**Storms in Middle Earth  
Chapter Eight  
Word Count:** 4,078**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really.**  
Author's Note:** It would be nice if I could manage to remember that orcs don't like the sun. I had been trying to fix the whole battle/fight part at the end of the chapter and then realized the whole thing was off because it had been morning when Aragorn and Varyar argued in the burrow. Oops. At least I caught it before I posted it, I guess.

And there may have been too much talking in the battle, but it amused me, and it helped get the whole action part done, so I left it as it was. It was a real struggle just to get that fight written. I should avoid fight scenes all together, but Varyar's idea so wants to be written sometime...

* * *

**Knowledge in Battle**

_Sometimes he tried to remember what his name was, and sometimes that was too much pain. He did not need to know it. He did not need to remember home. Those were things he would never see or be again, for the person he was before was gone, had disappeared somewhere into these shadows with all that had happened._

_Could he look upon his body, would he see scars? Elves were fair, they did not get scars, did they? Yet... who was he to say that he was an elf? He did not know that, did he? And if he were an elf, why had he not yet faded into death?_

_Was that release somehow denied him?_

_Did he still hope for rescue? How could he, when even he had forgotten himself?_

* * *

"Estel," Legolas said, his throat choking on the words, unable to understand how what he was seeing had come to pass, "let him go. Now."

Anyone could have a temper, and he had seen Estel provoked before, had seen the man give way to great anger and something close to bloodlust before a battle, but this was not his friend, not this man he saw before him, the one who seemed intent on hurting another friend, one already injured and incapable of fighting back.

No, Varyar could have touched him, could have spread the poison he carried to Estel, but he had not. He had not attempted to defend himself. Was he still so convinced that he deserved death? Yes, since he intended to die rescuing his family, but why would he not fight now, when they were still in the hands of his enemy? He could not let himself fall now, not before they were freed.

Aragorn's jaw tightened, and he glared at Firyavaryar before he let him go, and he was not entirely gentle about it, though instead of letting Varyar fall to the ground, he dropped him back against the wall of the burrow.

"What is this?" Legolas asked, looking between man and elf, wanting an explanation. He knew that Estel did not trust Varyar, but he had not thought the man would harm him without some proof of wrongdoing, but he could see none. The other elf was not even in a state to move, so how could he have attacked? "What has happened here?"

"Your _echil_ does not appreciate my humor," Varyar said, a wry smile on his face as he slumped down against the wall. He drew in a breath and let it out, betraying his pain. "I did not expect him to, but then I suppose my comments about the hospitality of Imladris were in more than the usual poor choice."

Legolas frowned. He knew that Firyavaryar was not one that admitted to much, but he did not think that his old friend considered him such a fool. He did not even need to look at Estel to know that the words were untrue. "You would have me believe that all of this is because you insulted Lord Elrond?"

Varyar looked at him, eyes cloudier than usual, and Legolas thought he might have preferred the darker version than this one—it reminded him too much of one who was passing into the shadow realm, of wraiths, and while his friend was haunted, he was not one of them—was he? Such a thing was not possible. He'd be nothing more than the cloak, and while Varyar did hide under it often, he was not one of them. Legolas was just confusing himself, reaching for an explanation that was not there.

"If I told you it was because I told him to render you unconscious to stop you so that I wouldn't have to kill you, would you believe me?"

"No," Legolas said, for even if he knew nothing else, he knew that Firyavaryar would not kill him.

"Then what is the point in telling you anything?"

Before Legolas could answer that, the black speech of Mordor invaded his senses, unsettling him, and his head ached a little as he looked back at the door. Varyar answered back in the same tongue as he joined Nostalion at the burrow opening. They continued in conference, voices lowered, but Legolas still felt the uneasiness that came with the use of such a foul language nearby.

He did not know what they thought they needed to conceal from everyone else, but at least one thing was certain—Nostalion did not agree with something that Firyavaryar had said, gesturing angrily to the distance as Varyar shook his head.

Estel touched his shoulder, and Legolas turned, distracted from his observations by the man's proximity. "Forgive me, Legolas. He baited me, and I gave into it, as I have never trusted him, and his words were like poison even without the tongue of Mordor."

"He did call himself that," Legolas agreed, shaking his head. "I do not understand—how did he come to this? The shadow, yes, but I always thought—that fear haunted him when he was younger, the idea that his people—Avari—must serve the dark one—I never thought he would do it. He was scared of Mithrandir when they first met for he feared such service, and yet when I watch him now..."

"Do you fear he has accepted it?"

_"Echil,_ I hope as a ranger you know how to fight," Varyar said, turning back to them. "I know you did not forget your bow, little prince, and that is good, for we are about to have need of it. Nostalion says a band of orcs came in the night. They approached from a distant tower—"

"Dol Guldur," Legolas hissed, knowing and hating that place for the evil it spread.

"A welcoming committee?" Estel asked. "Are they hunting you?"

"While I am certain that you would be of interest even to the Dark Lord himself, heir of Isildur, I am not," Varyar said. "And truthfully—why would he send orcs after me when a storm is far more effective?"

* * *

"_I thought you planned on getting better at this," Legolas teased, looking down at Firyavaryar. "If you were going to be better at this, you'd stop falling down all the time, and you _would _watch your footwork."_

_Varyar grunted, sitting up. "Someone likes to put on a show with those knives of his, but not all of us are the sort that can do moves with fanfare. You have the balance and the talent for it and you were bred to it. You are a prince. You're expected to be good at this."_

"_I _am, _but that does not mean that I should be told I am good at it when I am not," Legolas said, frowning. He had the unpleasant feeling that Varyar had let him win that match, and he did not want to believe that. He wanted to win on his own merit, and he hadn't thought his friend would be the sort to do what all the court did—never allowing him to be hurt when they sparred, never letting him lose. Varyar was honest, unlike the rest of them. "Did you let me win?"_

"_Do you think I enjoy falling to the ground?" Varyar asked, snorting as he stood, dusting off his leggings. "I don't."_

"_That is not what I asked." Legolas sighed, turning away from him. He stopped with a frown. "I did not know we had an audience. I should have. Forgive me, Mithrandir. I did not hear you join us."_

"_I need no apology," the wizard said with a smile. "I enjoyed watching you all the more for the fact that you were unaware of me observing you."_

"_I cannot help thinking that I should still be at least part ashamed—allowing one fight to distract me could mean my death or that of my companions—I have to be alert enough to see other threats and somehow not be distracted by it at the same time," Legolas said, frowning. He didn't know how he would find that, but he did want to learn it—_needed _to learn it._

"_I should think you might worry more about this habit your friend mentioned," Mithrandir said with a smile. "You do have a tendency to add an unnecessary flourish to your moves."_

_Legolas smiled, looking over at Varyar. "That is because he always gets flustered by them, and that makes it easy to win."_

_Varyar glared at him. "First you accuse me of letting you win, and now you claim it is because your talent for exaggeration is so disconcerting that I cannot concentrate? I should have kicked you earlier, knocked you on your spoiled princely behind."_

"_I suggest that next time you do just that," Mithrandir said, amused. "Neither of you will benefit from a competition that is less than your all. Particularly you, young _gildin."

_Firyavaryar frowned at him. "I accidentally set your papers on fire. That is not a reason to call me spark—definitely not a silver spark."_

_Mithrandir smiled, placing his hand on Varyar's shoulder. "There is more to you than that 'accident.' You seem to have a gift for spellcraft—among other things. I should very much like to see you practice again."_

"_I think we should save that for some other time," Varyar said, pushing his hair back from his shoulder, stopping when he saw the tear in his tunic._

"_Did I cut you?" Legolas asked. "I think I see a mark."_

"_It is nothing," Firyavaryar said, pulling on the tunic and shaking his head. "At most, it is irritating because now my tunic needs repair, but I know that Sérëdhiel will fix it—I would not even have to ask her. Still, Legolas, you have lessons with Beridhren now. You will be late."_

"_I _want _to be late. I thought you were supposed to be the one that was to be buried in the archives for the next century, not me. Did you tell him that was my trap he walked into, then? Is that why he's mad and punishing me?"_

"_Why would Beridhren believe me?"_

"_Excellent point," Legolas agreed, laughing, and he saw Mithrandir smiling at their antics. He thought that if any part of the Istari's coming had to do with the king having doubts about his son's friend, that was part of his purpose no longer. Varyar had either impressed him or just amused him enough to where the Istari saw him as no threat. He thought the Maia liked his friend._

_He might be one of the only ones that _did. _Legolas had been hearing _new _rumors now, and though all he knew for certain of them was that they called Varyar the wizard's pupil, he did not think that was meant in a good way, even though Mithrandir was right—Firyavaryar did understand his spells better than he should._

"_Off to your lessons then, young prince. I am certain there will be plenty of time for you to show me your training later," Mithrandir said, and Legolas nodded, reluctantly preparing to leave. He passed Firyavaryar the sword he'd taken from him earlier and gathered up the rest of his things. Varyar went to sheath the blade, but the wizard swung his staff toward him without any warning. Legolas would have called out to his friend, but there was no time._

_The sword struck the wood, almost splintering it, and Legolas stared, not thinking that should be possible, not with a wizard's staff._

"_Ah, and so now we see that you are not half as clumsy a warrior as you pretend, _gildin," _Mithrandir said, looking at where his staff met Varyar's blade and then at him. "Now, why don't you tell us why you have been hiding that skill?"_

"_I' m not a warrior," Varyar said, dropping the sword and backing away from them before he began to run._

_Legolas looked at Mithrandir, but he thought the wizard was as confused by his friend's reaction as he was—or maybe just worried by it._

* * *

"Take this," Firyavaryar said, handing Alassë a dagger that gleamed in the fading sunlight that filtered through the trees. Aragorn was not close enough to read the writing, but he could tell that it had elvish script on it, though Legolas did not react to the weapon as though he recognized it. "The orcs should not get near you, but if they do, you will not be unarmed."

Alassë glanced back at the burrow, and Aragorn could see her distaste for that suggestion. He did not know that they truly expect her to sit still in their shelter for the entire fight. He did not think she would agree with this idea, not from what he had seen of her before, and he found himself waiting for her outburst. None came. He didn't know that she had any skill for fighting or even any training in it, but then they would know if any orcs got past them since she was not insisting on fighting for herself.

Firyavaryar touched her face with his gloved hand, and she flinched, causing him to withdraw his hand in an instant. "Idhrenion would not want anything to happen to you. The storm affected you—you know this—and even had it not done so, you know your body is changing with the child you carry. Fighting would be difficult, even were you as trained as Nostalion, and you are not."

She grimaced. "I hate when you use logic. You remind me too much of Sérëdhiel and the wisdom she has that shames us all."

"I am not enough like her for that comparison," Firyavaryar said. "Now go. Even with almost the whole day to prepare, we are unready. We must get the archers in position."

"Do we now? Where is your bow?" Legolas asked, looking his friend over to see if he had one under his cloak, though Aragorn would have thought that they'd have seen it by now. Either way, he did not like this—he did not want to have fight alongside these elves, not when he could not trust them.

"I always was a poor shot, remember?" Firyavaryar answered, nodding toward Nostalion. "I leave that to him most times."

Nostalion grunted, withdrawing a fine bow from his back, the lifted cloak giving Aragorn enough of a glimpse to be uneasy. Nostalion had been carrying more weapons than they realized under that cloak. "Excuses. His bow was broken two days after we set out."

Firyavaryar did not seem at all bothered by his friend's correction. "It does not matter. I am best at close combat."

Aragorn almost laughed. "You have no sword, and after last night and the state you were in, you could not hold one. How do you think you will be able to stand against a band of orcs, if that is what is coming?"

"Oh, I could borrow Nostalion's daggers if I wanted, but I don't need them." The elf wiggled his gloved fingers, and Aragorn frowned. The poison? He intended to use his hands to _touch _the orcs? Would that even work since they were also of the shadow? _"Fó, _that would have deprived you of seeing Nostalion fight with them, which is something you should see at least once. He is as skilled with them as Legolas is those knives of his. Not as good a shot with the bow, though, but then that was not the sort of work he was meant to do."

Aragorn noticed the Quenya that Firyavaryar had mixed with his speech this time, and he would have to ask later how much of that language the elf understood. His name was taken from it, but before now, he had shown no proficiency for it. Another reason for suspicion, another reason for unease on the eve of battle, and he almost wished he had gone through with his earlier threat.

"They come," Nostalion said, drawing an arrow from his quiver. "They stink."

"All orcs smell the same," Firyavaryar said, smiling at his friend, and Nostalion snorted. Legolas smiled, one with a slight sadness to it, and Aragorn thought that he had seen their banter as a familiar thing before a fight, perhaps even something he used to share with Firyavaryar and now no longer could.

The light shifted, growing darker. Legolas' attention went to area beyond the trees, and he flattened himself against one as he took aim. Aragorn moved into position near the others, not for the first time wishing that he had the clear sight that the elves did. He did not see the threat that all the others seemed keenly aware of, and he would have thought, again, that it might be a trap if Legolas did not seem to sense it as well.

"How many?"

"Nothing that we cannot face," Legolas answered. "I think you and I could have done this alone, but with Varyar and Nostalion with us, we will have less injuries when we are finished."

"That is if you trust them," Aragorn said, and his friend gave him a sharp look. "I know you want to, and I know I did not look like a friend earlier when I seemed to be attacking yours, but he _did _provoke me."

"I do not understand why," Legolas said, frowning. "It would do Varyar no good to die now."

Aragorn glanced back at the other elf, watching him remove his gloves one finger at a time, folding them with care over each other and storing them in his belt. He turned his hands over, examining each pale part of his skin, and he smiled in grim satisfaction at whatever he saw there—or did not see.

"Is insanity a quality you desire in all your friends?"

"No, though it does seem to be a common trait," Legolas answered, and Aragorn shook his head as he readied his own bow. He saw something coming up the hill and let out a Dwarven curse. Nothing they could not face. Amusing way of putting it.

"If that is what they call a _band_ of orcs, then I do not want to know what they see as an army."

* * *

"Should I say something about you cowering behind me, Varyar?" Legolas called over his shoulder, readying another shot as his friend laughed. Estel was frowning at him—or perhaps trying to find his next shot, but now that the first few volleys had gone forth and taken down the front line of the band—it was not quite an army, despite what Estel thought—the need for silence was gone. The orcs were not using archers, and their hearing wouldn't have been good enough to pinpoint the elves and men in the trees, not in the spreading twilight. Perhaps he was overconfident, but he would rather tease his friend than think too much of their poor numbers against these foes. They had only four—five if one counted Alassë, but with Faryavaryar wounded, it was best to say four—against a company of at least fifty if not more, and humor did seem to be of aid in situations like this.

"Say all you like, little prince. I know it to be an effective strategy," Varyar answered with a laugh, sounding as though he did stand right behind Legolas, though he did not think it was because he cowered. He grinned, letting another arrow fly toward its target, reaching for another from the quiver. "How many is that now?"

Legolas had used at least seven arrows, and he did not know that it would be too prideful to say that most if not all had hit their mark, making them kill shots. He could claim that, but he did not know that he wanted to track his kills. "I forgot you counted."

"No, you did."

Legolas laughed, not sure why that assumption was still amusing, but for some reason it was, and it was like sparring with Varyar back when they were both elflings in training. He had much lighter spirits than he should have in battle, but he was greatly comforted by the presence of his two friends, despite their disagreements and what he'd seen earlier. It was, he thought, better to be with friends when death was possible. All hostilities were forgotten in the middle of battle, and while perhaps it was foolish to think that combat could unite them, strange bonds were forged when people risked death together.

"I have an idea," Varyar said. "I've considered doing it before, but I'm a terrible archer, and while Nostalion's better, he doesn't have your speed. Are you willing to risk letting me tip your arrows? You'd have to release them fast—the poison could touch you if you don't—but if you fired more than one at the ground—"

"Are you suggesting poisoning the land?"

"Not very elven of me, is it, ranger?" Firyavaryar asked. "The decision is yours, Legolas. It is a risk, and it will taint the land. I cannot say how long that will last or how far it will spread, but I would only suggest it to someone with your level of skill."

"I never knew you to use false flattery before," Legolas told him, eying the group of orcs, knowing that they would soon be overrun where they stood. "I do have to ask—if you can poison objects like my arrows, why is it that your clothes aren't tainted?"

"Something to do with the properties of the materials that create the fabric or something. Idhrenion and Sérëdhiel would know between the two of them. I never cared to know as long as I didn't have to go about naked."

"Now _that_ would have been a sight. A strange, scrawny elf with no connection to nature stumbling about without—"

"Have both of you elves forgotten that we are in the middle of a battle?" Estel asked, but he failed in imitation of his father's sort of chastisement when he shook his head, trying not to laugh. His arrow still hit the mark, embedding itself in the neck of an orc, but that one had gotten close. Too close.

Legolas grimaced. It was almost time for the knives.

"Impressive, _e__chil," _ Varyar said as he moved forward, past both Legolas and Estel. "If you can always fight like this, you may yet become king."

Estel glared at him, but Firyavaryar darted out in between the orcs, weaving a path that Legolas could not follow. He did not like this—with the dark clothes and short hair, his friend would not be easy to tell apart from the orcs, even if one's eyes could track his path in the fallen orcs or the screams of the afflicted. "Is he trying again to get himself killed?"

"I do not think so," Legolas said, for he saw another path being cut through the orcs on the other side, and when he looked over at the tree, Nostalion and his bow were gone. He was out in the thick of the horde, but Legolas could not tell where, not for more than a moment at time. He could hit either of the other elves if he risked a shot with his bow.

"So much for bows," Estel muttered. "Now for the blade."

Legolas nodded, hanging his bow and withdrawing his knives. Estel unsheathed his sword and rushed into the orcs with a fierce cry, meeting his first opponent's blade with a clang of metal. Legolas almost smiled. This fight was one that Estel needed after the provocation he'd had this morning, needed to use that fury and need for vengeance in a righteous way, against the forces of the shadow and not against an elf, no matter how contrary that elf was. Estel would not like to harm one of the Firstborn, even if he was Avari. Let him—all of them—let their anger go against the servants of the darkness instead of each other.

Still, that anger helped in more physical combat. This was messy work, and though some found it satisfying, Legolas did not know that he was one of them. He preferred his bow. He felt something when he gripped an arrow, when he lined it in his bow, and when it shot forth, he knew a satisfaction that was not matched by his work with his knives. He moved through the orcs, blade in each hand, striking with the right hand first, then the left, keeping himself in motion as he did, dodging their attacks as his own connected. Dark blood splattered him, and he grimaced, not wanting to wear the stink of orc.

Their work with the bows had thinned the band, but the number of orcs was still high, leaving each of them at least ten if not more to face alone. Legolas knew that Beridhren and Ehtyarion would not have approved of Varyar's tactics—their strategy would seem poor—but he had no real trouble with the orcs that came at him, nor had he heard indication of any injury to their party, not yet.

Two of the orcs that had come for him turned away, and he frowned, sidestepping the attack of a third as he watched the others go toward Estel. They must have thought the man was the weaker target and decided to overwhelm him. He was forced to turn and match his blade to that of the orc that had come up behind him, distracting him from the one he was already fighting. Legolas wished it was easier to switch between his bow and his knives, for he would have used an arrow to kill the orc, but he was too far away to help quickly, and the cry of an orc behind him had him turning to meet it with his knife. Estel would have to manage on his own a bit longer.

The orcs that had tried to ambush Estel gave out a cry of anguish, falling to the ground, and Legolas finished his last opponent, pulling the blade out and rushing toward the man, reaching him at the same time as Varyar.

"Would he want interference?"

Legolas glanced back at the shriveled orcs that Firyavaryar had diverted from the man. "Didn't you already do that?"

"They would have overwhelmed him. He has only two now, but if he wants them, I will not claim them. I know not to interfere with Nostalion, as well, even if he yet has three."

Legolas turned to see the other elf reduce that number to two as Estel evaded an attack and stabbed his sword deep into the other orc. Varyar reached over and touched the last orc, and Estel grimaced as he watched it collapse in a heap, its hands clenched and foam coming from the mouth that had tried and failed to scream.

"That should be it, then," Firyavaryar said, pulling on his gloves again, surveying the dead around him with a grim smile on his face. He turned to watch Nostalion slit the throat of an orc before directing the other dagger into the only orc left standing, and Legolas frowned, sharing a look with Estel as they had a chance to observe the elf's technique. What he'd seen was not much, and yet he thought he understood it, as much as he did not want to.

"You were trained as an assassin," Estel said, looking at him as though torn between admiration of the elf's skill and sickening feeling in their stomachs at the knowledge of what horrors that work taught its employees, of what Nostalion was capable of, and what he might have done in the past.

"Among other things," Nostalion said, sheathing his blade. He looked over at Varyar, touching his shoulder. "None got close to Alassë. She is well. She will be angry, but she is unharmed."

"I am not worried for her. I never was." Firyavaryar's eyes shifted, and he looked out past the orcs, eyes on the distant gloom. "While those creatures were not meant for us, now that they have found us, now that we have been weakened by this fight... Another storm looms over us. _He_ will come."


	9. The True Shadow

**Storms in Middle Earth  
Chapter Nine  
Word Count:** 4,632**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really.**  
Author's Note:** So... The whole story was leading to this point all along, and I always knew it was coming. I did. I just didn't expect it to be so hard. I have given hints along the way, I put the flashbacks in to balance things, and yet I'm afraid of what this is about to do to Firyavaryar.

Not that anyone was really going to come out of this completely unscathed...

* * *

**The True Shadow**

_One shadow. Two. Many in the darkness, so full of things of shame and undoing, the ruin of all this place, covered in filth and shadow, the evil invading his body and his mind. He did not know where he was, only the heavy weight of the gloom that surrounded him. He could not lift his head. He could not move his body._

_He felt as though crushed, and crushed he was in spirit, oppressed on all sides by things he little understood, lost in name and thought, with only the dark as a companion. He had withered away down here—was he even _down _somewhere? He did not know, but he felt he must be. He must be buried deep in a place without sunlight, a place without soul, where he, too, was losing his along with his mind._

_He did not understand why he did not die. Why did the shadow not take him?_

* * *

"I smell like orc."

Aragorn laughed at Legolas' grumbling. Not for the first time that night had he pulled at his tunic and shook it, as if that would rid it of the blood and the stink. "At least you are in good company. Only one of us does not smell like orc, and she is not happy about it. She hasn't stopped grumbling about nonsense about weak females and stupid males with inflated self-worth and how if she was such a weakness someone should have trained her, not since we started on our journey again, and it only gets worse when the dark makes her stumble."

"She is an elf, you know," Legolas said. "She _can _hear you."

"I know," Aragorn said, letting out a breath. "Though I think it better they hear my thoughts on that and not on the other subjects weighing on my mind."

"I do not know that we can avoid the subjects on our minds any longer," Legolas said, turning back to look for Varyar, who had lagged back with Alassë while Nostalion continued in the lead. "We need to know what we face, and while I do not know that I wish to delve deep into a past that is not mine, I do have concerns as well."

"Concerns?"

"Yes, Varyar, I am speaking of you, and do not tell me that if I do not care for your silence that I can leave," Legolas said, looking back at his friend as Firyavaryar came up beside them, matching their pace. "You know who has your family. Have you known all along? Why did you not tell me? Why did you not tell us about Eruaistaniel?"

"If Alassë told you she was taken, then you know she is likely already dead," Firyavaryar said, and Legolas glared at him. The other elf sighed. "I did not tell you because I knew that you would take it as another reason to come with us when I have asked you not to. I suppose if I had mentioned that Nostalion was raised as his family's assassin you might have been less stubborn about this, but he is my _gwador. _I would not tell you things he would not have you know."

"There is still much you should have said," Legolas told him, and Firyavaryar's eyes shifted to Aragorn before looking back at him. "This cannot continue."

"Yes, in that you are quite correct, little prince. Did you not stop to think of why we did not just avoid the orcs? We had time to find a way around them, and yet we did not. Do you not wonder why? It was only the four of us against what your _echil_ wants to call an army. We should have evaded them. That would have been simpler."

"You believe the orcs were headed for my kingdom. You allowed us to stop them."

"Go. Take word back to your father. The orc attacks will continue, and you will be needed there. Perhaps your _echil_ will be as well." Firyavaryar put his hand on Legolas' shoulder. "What must be done does not have to be done by you. What comes does not have to involve you."

"I have already told you that I am going with you."

Firyavaryar lifted his hand, and Aragorn grabbed him before he could take off his glove. "Don't. You will not live if you touch him. You said there was no cure, and even if I am not certain I believe anything you've said, I will not let you hurt him."

"Estel—"

"He _did _threaten you earlier, Legolas. I know you do not want to hear it, and after the way we fought the orcs together, it might have seemed like we found a way to trust each other, but I don't think that we can. He still refuses to tell you anything—or haven't you noticed the way he sidestepped those questions? He distracted you again." Aragorn would have put his blade to the elf's neck if he thought that Legolas would not rip it from him immediately. "Tell us the truth, Firyavaryar. Who has your family? Who is it that sends storms against you? Is it the one who poisoned your skin?"

"No. That one is dead," Firyavaryar said. Then he winced. "At least, we have always believed that he was. We should never have been able to leave if he lived."

"So then who is it?"

Firyavaryar yanked his arm free. "If I knew the name of the creature that took my family, if I knew anything at all about them, why would I conceal it?"

"Because you have help. You are not alone," Legolas insisted. "We fought well together, did you not see that? We can do so again, but only if you are willing to let us. Tell us all, and not only will you take away Estel's doubt, but you will have better equipped warriors at your side."

"No," Firyavaryar said, backing away from them. "I do not seek to gather warriors to my side. Even were I to know the name of this evil, I would not lead anyone into battle—I would not lead them anywhere. Go back to your home. Forget that you heard anything about my family, that you saw me again. Save yourself."

"From what?"

"From me."

Aragorn almost laughed. So the danger was in Firyavaryar himself. That sounded right to him, though he did not know that Legolas would be convinced of that, no matter what the elf said. If there was a cure for the poison, Aragorn might have let him infect Legolas just to prove what he was, let him do _something _to prove that he was not what Legolas thought he was, but for all his talk, he had yet to make an actual move against the prince, other than that unnatural sleep.

"I do not believe that you could hurt me," Legolas said, and Firyavaryar hissed out a curse in the black tongue. "It is not in your nature, Varyar, and it could not be, even after centuries apart or even centuries of torture."

"You do not believe that... but do you believe that I could betray you?"

* * *

"_I thought you hated dusty tomes," Legolas said, trying to peer over Varyar's shoulder as he turned a page in the book he was reading, scribbling notes on the parchment beside it. "Why are you stuck face first into that book, then? Are you going to become a scholar now?"_

"_No."_

"_You made excuses and skipped our training sessions _and _the last three times that we were supposed to _play _together. You haven't played a prank on your brother in a week, and every time I find you, you are in a book. It is like you have switched with Idhrenion, but I haven't noticed any change in him. What is your new obsession with books?"_

_Firyavaryar looked up, sighing. "I am not making excuses—I have not felt capable of doing any training for the last two weeks, nor do I feel like playing. I have not pranked Idhrenion because I am too fatigued to think properly to do so."_

"_Because you are not sleeping and reading these books," Legolas said. "It has to be that. Elves don't get sick."_

"_I am not an ordinary elf. I am Avari."_

"_I think you might be part-Maia, being able to read all that." Legolas laughed when he saw the frown on his friend's face. "I don't know why you risked going after Mithrandir's books again, not after you set that fire, but you are determined, aren't you? I thought you didn't like wizards, but here you are, learning his craft, at least what you can of it."_

_Varyar closed the book. "What we don't know is what ends up hurting us."_

_Legolas frowned. Those words made him uncomfortable, and he didn't know why Varyar was saying them. "What is it that you are so afraid of? You walked away during practice like you were and you haven't been around much since. If you don't want to be a warrior, why are you looking at spells?"_

"_Not every spell is meant for destruction. You know this, young Thranduilion," Mithrandir said as he came into the room. Varyar tensed, but he did not run this time, perhaps because he knew there was no where for him to go and escape the Istari. "At least you should know by now. Are you a neglectful student as well?"_

"_Beridhren might say so. No, he _would _say so. Still, that does not meant that I am. I just have different priorities from the ones that he thinks I should have, that's all. I know he would not approve, but he is not me. I need things he doesn't understand."_

"_I think you may need what he has for you as well."_

_Legolas folded his arms over his chest. "I know there is one thing I need that he will never understand, and because he doesn't, he is a poor tutor. He would die for me, and I know that—he is loyal—but he does not understand me."_

_The Istari put a hand on his shoulder. "That time will come. You are still growing into the elf that you will be, and he will see that. So will your father, though I fear it may take him many more centuries than you will like."_

"_That is comforting," Legolas muttered, and Varyar laughed. He turned to his friend. "That's not funny. I do not know why you're laughing when you should be in trouble—or will be, soon."_

_For a moment, Legolas thought that Firyavaryar would say that he was not afraid of the wizard, but if that was what he would have said, no one would know._

"_Well, young _gildin,_ what have we here?" Mithrandir asked, leaning down to study the notes that Varyar had made from his book. His eyes widened, and he picked up the papers with a smile. "You do have more than a basic understanding of what you are reading. I am pleasantly surprised."_

"_There would be no point in taking a book if I could not hope to understand it," Varyar said. He looked up at Mithrandir, holding the book out to him. "It was only knowledge I sought, and I did not set anything on fire this time. Will you take away the spell that has been causing this fatigue?"_

"_You think I put you under a spell?"_

"_I think I have been more weary than is natural, and it started the first time I borrowed one of your books. It is not lack of sleep, as Legolas claims."_

"_And you want it undone?" Mithrandir gazed on him with a mixture of emotions in his eyes. "Do you not know that there are consequences for all actions? Should you suffer no punishment for theft?"_

"_Maybe he had a good reason for borrowing the book," Legolas began, because he had not known Varyar to do anything without purpose—good or bad. He would tease his brother and comfort his sister—though sometimes that must be the opposite—and he studied and fought and even his games seemed to have meaning. "Would that help lessen the punishment?"_

"_Perhaps," Mithrandir conceded. "Though it would depend entirely on the reason."_

"_I am certain it is a good one. Varyar always has good reasons, don't you?"_

"_Sérëdhiel is the one with logic and rationality. That is not me. Go ask her if you want a reason for anything. I have none."_

"_None that you will give, I fear," Mithrandir said, looking down at Varyar and shaking his head. "I do not think fatigue should be your punishment—I think you will find a more compelling lesson in silence. You must learn not to hold yours or no one will help you. They will not know to."_

"_I don't need anyone's help," Varyar said, angry. "I don't know why you'd assume that I am some poor elfling in need of aid of some old man, but I am not. I don't need or want..."_

"_Want what?" Legolas asked when his friend stopped speaking, but all he got in answer was a glare—not at him, but at the wizard, and he grimaced, wishing he could have convinced Varyar not to be so stubborn for once._

* * *

"_What is it about this storm that disturbs you so?" Legolas asked, joining his friend at the window. Since Mithrandir silenced Varyar, he'd been more withdrawn than usual, but he would communicate in some way if he had to. "Is it the lightning? Are you worried about being alone? Is there something I can do for you?"_

_Firyavaryar shook his head, his eyes going back to the rain as it fell. He seemed to be unable to keep his gaze from it, and the more the weather continued, the more concerned Legolas became for his silent friend. He knew that Varyar was not much of a conversationalist to begin with, but the unnatural silence of his current days was starting to affect them all. This had to stop. He was going to Mithrandir now. If everyone still felt that Varyar needed to be punished, it would be finished in some other manner. This hurt—Legolas could see it in his eyes._

_He turned, about ready to find the wizard when the door opened, and in stepped that same Istari. He would say something about always arriving precisely when he meant to if he knew what the prince had just been thinking._

"_Varyar," Legolas said, tugging on his friend's tunic to get him to look toward them. "See who is here. I think it is time that this ends."_

"_Indeed, I agree," Mithrandir said. "Are you ready to talk, young _gildin?"

_Varyar flinched, but he forced himself to nod, and Mithrandir's expression softened as he put a hand on his shoulder. "I release you."_

"_Thank you," Firyavaryar whispered, turning away again, and Legolas frowned, looking at the wizard with a sudden anger._

"_You should not have done that to him. I know what he did in stealing your books was not right, but he did not deserve to be punished so harshly," Legolas said, knowing that Varyar had faced away from them so that they could not see the tears. "There were other ways, Mithrandir. You have hurt him in ways I don't think you understand."_

"_That was not my intention." The Istari reached for Firyavaryar again, getting him to look at him. "There you are. Now, please, tell me what unsettles you so about the rain. You will not help yourself any by holding in the pain. I have tried to show you this."_

_Varyar's eyes darted to the window. "He... He said I would never be clean again."_

"_Who?"_

"_The one that murdered my mother." Firyavaryar's words came out in a pained whisper, and Legolas blinked as Mithrandir drew him into his arms, holding onto him as he shook. "The orcs had me, and they were so dirty, and I could not breathe because of the smell, and he said even if I lived I wouldn't ever feel clean again, not in the rain, not in the water... because her blood was on my hands."_

"_You never told me that," Legolas said, anguished for his friend. "I did not even know that the rain bothered you until now."_

_Varyar tried to push away from Mithrandir, but the Istari had a good grip on him. "I did not mean to speak of it. I do not want to. Let me go. There is no good to come of telling anything. Just let me go."_

"_I do not think I can do that yet, young one," Mithrandir said, and Firyavaryar flinched again. "You must give me some opportunity to balance out what harm I have mistakenly caused you, for it was not my wish to do you ill. I had only hoped to see more cooperation for you, and I did not expect you to be so stubborn about asking for the removal of your silence. I now think you would never have come to me for it."_

"_Balance and cost," Varyar answered, and the Istari nodded as though he understood that. "Why would an Istari want to atone for anything?"_

"_Even wizards make mistakes. What would you like in exchange?"_

"_Can you lift all curses or just the ones you give?"_

_Mithrandir frowned. "Is that why you have studied my books? Are you seeking to find a way to rid yourself of some curse?"_

"_If I was, it would be foolish to do so. There is nothing in your books like that."_

"_No, there is not," the Istari agreed. "However, that gives me an idea. This all started because you wished to see more of my books—why not go over them with me? That way there will be no thefts or need for misunderstanding. What do you say, _gildin?_ Is that agreeable?"_

_Firyavaryar frowned. "I do not know why you would do this."_

"_I fear you see little in the shadow that threatens to overtake you, this guilt and grief that you carry," Mithrandir told him. "However, we cannot allow that to deprive the prince of his dearest friend, can we?"_

_Legolas laughed. "I doubt that you are truly doing it for my sake. You just want someone around who likes your books on spellcraft and is willing to be with you despite your nasty habit. I do not know how Varyar will cope with the smell, but if he wants to, I am certain he will find a way."_

_The wizard smiled. "Indeed."_

"_It is not the smoking that is so bothersome," Firyavaryar said, recovering some of his spirit. "It is the unkempt beard and hair that is so hard to look upon—"_

"_Why you—" Mithrandir stopped himself, starting to laugh. "And to think I _wanted_ you to speak."_

_Legolas smiled, knowing that Firyavaryar had managed, in his strange and off-putting way, to make another lifelong friend._

* * *

"This place gives me an unnatural chill," Legolas whispered, stopping in the mist that had come up around them, frowning as he searched their surroundings, "and yet it is far from Dol Guldur. This is not the work of the necromancer."

"Perhaps it is from one of his allies," Aragorn suggested, though if there was a reason for a chill, it was that Firyavaryar's last words had not departed from their minds. He had said nothing since he asked Legolas if he would believe him capable of betrayal.

"_You do not believe that... but do you believe that I could betray you?"_

_Legolas frowned, his eyes searching the other elf's face as though he did not even understand the question, but Aragorn knew he must have. The doubt was not about having been asked if he would betray him—it was that Legolas _knew _that it was possible. He knew it was, but he did not want to admit that it was._

"_No," the prince managed to say, though it was not a convincing statement. "I do not believe that. Never have you wanted to do me harm, so why would you betray me?"_

_Firyavaryar gave him a look, shaking his head before he quickened his pace, catching up to Nostalion and falling into step with him, not looking back._

Legolas glanced toward his friend again, and Aragorn noted that he and Nostalion were in quiet conference again—though how long it would stay quiet was debatable, since Nostalion disagreed with whatever Firyavaryar was saying—_again._

"It would make sense, such a dark creature wanting elves as prisoners. Whether it is to repeat the terrible actions of Melkor and turn them into orcs or just for his own purpose, I cannot say, but there are many who hate and fear us, and sometimes I fear that the elven realms are all that stand between Middle Earth and the return of Sauron." Legolas shook his head. "I do not like this place. We should not linger."

"I think Nostalion might just be agreeing with you," Aragorn said as the other two elves' voices rose and Firyavaryar turned away, leaving his companion. "Though I'm not certain I want to know what that exchange was about."

"I hurt him, earlier, when I hesitated to answer him." Legolas grimaced. "No, it was when I lied poorly. He knew it was a lie, and that upset him."

"So you _do_ think he would betray you."

"It is not so much that as... I think Varyar would do anything for his family, and if that meant a choice between me and them, I know which one he would make," Legolas answered, pained. "It is not a choice that anyone would want to ask of themselves—if it was between you and my father, Estel, what would I do? I do not think I know. Varyar does, and he hates himself for it."

Aragorn started to respond to that, but any words he managed were covered over by the scream that came from behind them, echoed by a loud snarl, and Legolas had his bow in hand before Aragorn understood that Alassë had been the one to scream. She rushed toward them, black blood on the dagger that Firyavaryar had given her, and Aragorn drew his own bow, looking around for the enemy. He had not thought that the _elleth _was that far behind them, so where was the orc? Dead?

"There are so many of them, hidden in the mist," she whispered, shuddering. "I didn't even smell it until it almost had me."

Aragorn frowned, still looking for the orcs. He knew that she had injured one—he'd heard it and the dagger still dripped with the proof—but he could not see any sign of them. "Legolas, tell me your elf eyes are doing better than mine."

"No, I see nothing but mist."

"Unnatural mist," Alassë said, shivering as she tried to stay close to them, her eyes darting toward the approaching figure of Nostalion. She relaxed some as she saw him. "Where are they, cousin? I know they're here, but they do not attack."

"They do not need to, not yet. They have us surrounded."

"How?" Aragorn asked, trying to tell himself that three elves and one ranger could not have missed the approach of an army of orcs, though it did not take much to think that some of them might not have given a warning even if they had known the orcs were getting close.

"Something about this mist," Nostalion spat a curse after saying the last. "It is interfering with my senses. I am... I cannot track like this."

"You look almost ill," Alassë told him. "Are you certain it is only your senses that are affected?"

He gave her a curt nod before turning to face Firyavaryar. "The mist—"

"He comes," Firyavaryar said, flinching at his own words. He let out a breath and drew another before speaking again. "I... I may be able to negotiate with him. Do not start a fight we cannot win until there is no other option. Let me speak first."

Aragorn shook his head. Not after what Legolas had told him a moment ago. He would not give this elf a chance to betray them all. "No."

"Let him," Nostalion ordered. "I do not like his choice, but I at least understand it."

Alassë said nothing. Legolas turned, his eyes catching sight of the orcs moving in out of the mist, and Aragorn let out a curse as he saw them as well. Nostalion wasn't wrong—they _were _surrounded. They should have been able to sense this approach—this was a whole battalion, and Aragorn thought that someone's entire armed force had encircled them. They could fight, but it would mean death.

Firyavaryar stepped forward, away from them, and Aragorn didn't think that they had much hope for negotiation here, though it might be a distraction. "Wait. That thing with the arrows you wanted to try. This might be the time for it."

"Do you think you can have any sort of strategy against what I have arrayed here? Speak, Man, for I am curious. Most curious. It is not often men travel with elves," a voice spoke as though from the mist itself, and Alassë grabbed hold of her cousin. Aragorn scanned the orcs, looking for their leader, but when the robed figure emerged, he could only stare.

Was that a nazgûl? One of the ring-wraiths here? What of the other eight? Or was the robe mere concealment? What was this being? Maia? Elf? Demon? Something else?

"There you are, my pet," the robed figure said, stepping forward to face Firyavaryar. "I had wondered why you delayed when you got my summons."

Aragorn cursed. He had known this would happen, he had expected this all along, and they had just discussed the possibility of betrayal, but it still managed to sting as it happened. Firyavaryar was this thing's servant. He had been all along. Legolas tensed beside him, and he saw the elf shaking his head in disbelief.

Firyavaryar glared at his master. "You know why—you sent those storms against me."

"Are you annoyed? If you were more obedient, such discipline would not be necessary. There would even be rewards," the voice said, reaching out to grab hold of Firyavaryar, closing its hand around his neck. "As it is, you may have tried my patience for the last time."

The elf struggled in the being's grip. "Fine. You have me. Let my family go."

"Why should I? You know you all belong to me. You always have." The figure loosened his hold, shifting his hand to the back of the elf's neck as the hooded head turned toward the others, and Aragorn stilled, forcing himself not to draw his sword. He would need it soon, but he wanted to use surprise if he could, and as the orcs were still distant, halted around them when their master approached, he might want the bow instead. "Who are these? More for me to bend to my will?"

"No. They can be of use, but they only require sufficient payment, and their price is not high," Firyavaryar said, his tone dismissive. "The man, especially. You know their greed."

"You hired help?" The hand tightened on Firyavaryar's neck. "Why would you hire anyone?"

The elf reached up to try and free himself. "I knew you would not let my family go without a greater prize, that I wouldn't be enough. So I used them to convince the one I knew you would take in place of them."

"You have a greater prize?

Firyavaryar nodded, looking down. "Legolas Thranduilion, the prince of Greenwood."


	10. Marked in Youth

**Storms in Middle Earth  
Chapter Ten  
Word Count:** 4,519**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really.**  
Author's Note:** So I went back and forth over what should come next in this part. I almost didn't go with this version, but I was having trouble with Aragorn's reaction to what happens (I have two versions of that scene; they're both crap) and in the end, I came back to this chapter because... well...

Firyavaryar deserved a chance to explain himself, since it is probably going to be a while before he's seen again. And since he's not one to tell... he's showing.

* * *

**Marked in Youth  
**

_He could not tell when the darkness began or where it ended. It was as indeterminable as a well or the fathoms of the oceans, great depths of places that he had never seen—how did he know of oceans if he did not know what they were? The knowledge in his head was a curious thing, all these bits and pieces that did not fit together, and he could not remember where he had learned them._

_How had he known anything? This place was not one for learning, not unless the lesson was pain, and that lesson was not one worth repeating._

_What was life beyond this darkness? Did it stretch on like the oceans? He did not know. He could not remember what was beyond his hand—he could not even _see _his hand._

_Too great was the shadow. Too great was the darkness._

* * *

_Legolas Thranduilion, prince of Greenwood. _

He heard the words, but his heart did not want to believe them, even with the ache in his chest as he knew they were coming. He had known, yes, but he had not wanted to believe it. He still did not. The pain of them would not be undone, not by any foreknowledge, not by understanding the reasons behind the action, not by anything less than love itself, for only love could find forgiveness for a betrayal. Apologies, atonement, all of that meant nothing if one was not willing to forgive.

Legolas did not know that he was there, not yet. He knew that he still wanted to believe better of Varyar, and a part of him was angry—not even just at Firyavaryar, but at himself. He had been warned, repeatedly, and he'd refused to listen. He bore some of the blame for this, as he had been so insistent on trusting, on helping, that he had come to this point almost willingly.

Next to him, Estel started to reach for his sword, but Legolas shook his head. He knew they could not win this fight. It was possible that Varyar might yet be able to help them, that it was not just a betrayal. He had, after all, concealed Estel's identity from this shadow that dressed as a nazgûl might. Legolas did not know that he believed it to be one of the nine, but that thing radiated evil, a presence so vile as to upset all his elven senses, though the mist was affecting them as well.

"I see allowing you to flee to Greenwood was as useful as I'd believed it would be," the robed figure said, and Firyavaryar flinched as it touched a gloved finger to his cheek. It laughed, a cruel laughter worse than any orc Legolas had ever heard, even the ones that slayed his mother. "What, pet, did you think you went there of your own will? That I did not _allow _you to go? How amusing. You actually thought you had a choice."

This thing was what Varyar had fled when he ran to Greenwood, when he first met Legolas? Then... Their meeting was arranged, as those of the court had whispered in their hatred. The sorcerer, whoever this one was, he had set things in order so that Legolas would meet Firyavaryar and—had he even killed the other elf's mother to give them that shared pain? Or was that memory real at all?

"Take them," the robe ordered, and Legolas raised his bow as the orcs advanced.

"No!" Firyavaryar said, tugging on the hand that had returned to his neck. "There is no need to kill those who would serve willingly—I have already told you that the others could be bought—they _have _been. The elves pretended to be my kin for the prince's benefit, and the man was along to kill whatever he might. You have me, and you have the prince. Let the others go. My family will be returned by the ones I hired and you will have the prince to do as you will."

"And why should I agree to that? I can have you all."

"Because if you do not, I will kill him," Varyar said, and the figure tightened his grip. "I will kill them all. You know it would only take one touch. Let the others go, and I will serve you. If not, you will lose everything."

Legolas did not know that Firyavaryar could make any such bargain, and he would have said that he did not believe that the other elf was a killer. Desperate, perhaps, trying to save his family the only way he could, but if this bluff did not fool the one beneath the robe, none of them would survive.

"Very well. Let us pretend that you are getting what you want," the robe said, laughing. "After all, you have already bent to my will. It will not take much to get you to bring them all back to me, will it?"

Firyavaryar said nothing, just glared, getting more laughter from his hooded captor.

"Bring forth the other elves."

"When they are here, we might have sufficient number to stand against them," Estel whispered. "Perhaps he has only bought time for this."

Legolas wanted to say that he did not think the man believed that, for he did not know that _he _did. He also knew that none of the others would be in a state to fight, and the quickly hushed sound of Alassë's anguish made him look on the state of Idhrenion with despair. Not one of the other elves moved under their own power. Sérëdhiel had been draped over an orc's back with no ceremony, something she would never have allowed if she was conscious, even if she was a healer and not a warrior. Idhrenion was dragged behind two orcs with no care for his state—they might as well have ripped his arms off as carry him. The last was a bundle so small Legolas did not think it was an _elleth_ until she was dropped to the ground.

Those ones could not fight, and Legolas thought that Varyar had suspected their state when he attempted his negotiation. Legolas also knew that a choice was before him—he could fight with the others until their inevitable death, or he could surrender his freedom as agreed upon, hoping for a later rescue. Estel, he knew, would rather fight than allow anyone to be taken captive.

"There, pet. You have achieved their freedom—almost."

"Almost?" Varyar asked, pushing the hand off his neck. "What is this now? You cannot even be honest in your treachery for a moment?"

"I said I would let them go for now. I did not say that I would let them watch us go. They will not follow. Make them sleep, and we will go."

Firyavaryar looked at them, hesitating just for a moment. The being in the robe snarled in anger, knocking Varyar to the ground, and Legolas heard a foul voice and knew nothing more.

* * *

_His mother's last scream cut off as her life ended, and Firyavaryar's eyes clouded as he struggled to get free of the foul creatures holding him, but he could not free himself from their hold, weakened as he was. He had tried to fight, but his fight was for nothing. He had been captured long before they started to toy with his mother, before they did unspeakable things to her body, things that continued even now that she had passed beyond life._

_His eyes went across to the being that had watched it all with such cold hatred, the one that had tried to trick him when they were in the village. He had not quite trusted the trader, and he knew now that he was right not to, but what good did such knowledge do him? _

_His mother was dead._

_He did not want to see what they were doing to her body, but his head was gripped under the chin, forcing him to look ahead. He could keep his eyes above her level so as not to see the desecration of her, but that was not what the fake trader wanted._

"_So proud, aren't you? You must realize that you will not escape. You are fortunate, though. I will permit you to serve me, and if you do, then you will find that I am a more than generous master."_

"_No." Firyavaryar did not know how the other—he could not know if that was elf, man, Maia, or something else—could think that he would be willing to serve the one that had ordered the death of his mother, who had delighted in her slaughter and destruction._

"_You will have no choice. You were born to serve me, and you have already seen the consequences of rebellion," the robed figure said, coming toward him. He did not so much as glance at Calathiel's body as he did. "Your mother has fallen, and your father is weak. You know what will happen now."_

_Firyavaryar had always understood that so great was his parents' devotion to each other that they would fade if either was to fall. His father would be gone before the end of the day. "That does not mean that I will serve you. All you have accomplished is killing us all. If my father fades, there will be no one to care for my siblings, and their grief will take them as well."_

"_And you think that fading is to be your fate? Oh, no, my young one. You will not fade. I will not let you," the dark one said. Varyar did not think he was of any personal interest to Sauron, were he alive—this could not be the Dark Lord himself, only one of his agents __at most—and __yet the darkness with him, the malice that radiated from him, made Varyar want to run. Again._

"_You cannot stop me from fading. Your violence would only speed the process."_

_The other lifted up a band, one that flashed bright when first revealed, markings across it, and he tried to turn away from it as it darkened into shadow. He struggled, but the orcs held him still, closing the band around his neck. "You will not fade.__You are_ mine._ You will bring your brother and sister to me. Great is your love for them, and you will not let them fade."_

_Varyar shook his head. "I will not aid you, and I will not bring them to you. I am not yours."_

"_You are bound to me. Now that I have begun to mark you, you will always be mine. I will take great delight in bending you to my will," the being said, his hand going down through Varyar's hair and stopping above the band around his neck. "You are going to lead my armies, young one, for I know your spirit is one of battle. You will fight, you will conquer, and you will do so in my name."_

"_No."_

_The dark one—Varyar wanted to call it a corrupted Maia, but he was uncertain still what this being was—lifted his hand from his neck and down to his torn sleeve. He skimmed his finger along the surface of Varyar's skin, and he could only stare as dark marks spread across as though the finger was some sort of pen dipped in ink writing upon him. The eyes met his, and the laughter that followed was cruel._

"_You see? You_ are_ mine."_

_Varyar tried to shake his head, but the orc had gripped his head when the other released him, and the band on his neck felt as though it would choke him. He could make no reply. He glared at the other, feeling a growing sense of helplessness and fear, one that would overwhelm him if he let it._

_He had to resist this monster._

_He did not know that he was strong enough._

* * *

"_I see that young Thranduilion did not accompany you today," Mithrandir observed, reaching for a book and carrying it over to the desk where he had told Firyavaryar to sit. "Is he in trouble with his tutors again?"_

"_So he claimed, and he asked for aid from my brother, but I do not think he meant it. I don't think he likes these lessons you're giving me. His heart is with nature, and he does not seek any understanding of spells save what the land itself creates."_

"_Yes, I believe you are correct. You see your friend well, with an understanding that is clearer than your years."_

"_I am Avari," Firyavaryar said, pulling on his tunic as though he were chilled, but he was an elf. He should not be cold. Perhaps that was the wizard's doing again. "My parents distrusted most everyone except themselves. They taught us to look at a person and see the threat, but you cannot see the threat without seeing the person."_

"_That is true, and a very wise statement as well," the wizard said, smiling at him. "I am glad that you have chosen to share that with me."_

"_I feel as though you replaced the spell that was to keep me silent with one that makes me talk constantly," Varyar said, annoyed. He would not have spoken so much before, and he didn't think he wanted to, but he kept feeling as though he _had _to, and it bothered him. He did not like to speak so much. This was dangerous and foolish. "I do not share like this."_

"_No, I do not think you do. However, there are times to speak, and this would be one of them," Mithrandir said, the knowing gaze of the Istari focused on Varyar until he felt uncomfortable. "I have known many peoples in my time—dwarves and elves and men and many more, and yet I have had little chance to speak with any of the Avari."_

"_Are you going to suggest that I tell you of our strange customs? I do not know enough of them. It... I did not understand at first that I was an elf at all. I was with my family. We were. That was all. It was simple then, until the first orcs came. Then we fled, and we crossed into a town of Men, and that was when I learned what an elf was—that _we _were elves. Yet we have never been like the others. We have never been more than... us." Firyavaryar touched his head. "You tricked me into talking again."_

"_I fear that has become necessary," the wizard said, taking hold of his arm and pushing up the sleeve. Varyar tried to pull free, but the old man had an unbreakable grip, and there was no preventing those terrible marks from being seen. This was not a moment when they had faded, no—under the gaze of the Maia, they seemed stronger than ever since they were forced upon him. "Where did you come by these markings, _gildin?"

_He shook his head, unable to speak of that terrible time, unable to look at the wizard. "Leave me alone."_

"_I cannot, young one," Mithrandir said, and Varyar flinched. "These marks are why you were never to feel clean again. They will not wash away. They are the curse you sought to rid yourself of by examining my books, aren't they? How came you by these marks?"_

"_He put them on me, the one that killed my mother," Varyar whispered, closing his eyes and refusing to cry. "He said... he said they made me his, but I am not. I will never serve him."_

_Mithrandir sighed. "It is what I feared, then. These marks are indeed a claim of ownership, an oath of service. Who gave them to you?"_

"_I do not know his name. He never gave it to me. I called him Ogol, for that was what he was. What he is." Varyar looked at the marks on his arm. "Don't they say? If they say that he owns me, isn't his name there?"_

"_No, not from these ones," the wizard said, and Varyar sighed before he opened his tunic, letting the Istari see more of them. "Nor from those. I am afraid it is not there unless it is greatly obscured, though I admit that I have not the full picture of these markings."_

"_They are... everywhere," Varyar admitted, shaking his head. He would not show anymore. He could not. He was close to tears again, for some of the marks had not been made to fade, but burned or cut deep into his skin, and they still felt as though they burned when the marks resurfaced. Perhaps that was only a fancy, but he swore they did. "Can you make them go away? Please?"_

_The wizard hesitated. Firyavaryar left his chair, kneeling down at his feet. "He must have been something of your sort to do this to me. If I swore allegiance to you, would that not bind me to you and not to him?"_

"_I am afraid it would not," Mithrandir said, combing back his hair as though to comfort him. "I am sorry that you must carry this burden, _gildin, _but I know of no way to remove his hold on you. Not yet. You must let me look for one."_

"_And if he comes to claim what he thinks is his?"_

"_I would think that he would be foolish to war against King Thranduil, but then I know of little of his forces. Can you tell us much about them?"_

_Firyavaryar shook his head, leaning against the desk wearily. "I saw little in my time with him. He had orcs of an overwhelming number, and they killed my mother, but I was not taken among them after my capture. He kept me separate, as he claimed I would one day lead the army he had been breeding. I do not know how. The orcs hated me, even though it was no special thing to be tortured by him."_

_The wizard's eyes softened with pity. "You have endured much for one so young, as has your friend the prince, and I fear you will both endure much more in the days to come. You have a part to play in this Middle Earth, and it is not finished yet."_

"_Is that part good or bad?"_

"_Only you can decide that, _gildin, _for that choice is yours to make." Mithrandir put his hands on Varyar's shoulders, looking down at him. "I must go and consult with others regarding what you have told me."_

"_You do not think this is the work of the dark lord, do you? Why would he want me?"_

_Mithrandir paused, frowning as he thought. "I do not know whose hand is behind this, but whoever it was, they are still a threat. Be alert, young one, for trouble may come before my return, and you will have to face it alone."_

* * *

"_There you are, young one. It has been some time since you were with us."_

_Firyavaryar's eyes opened, and he blinked in confusion, unable to understand what he was seeing. He should have been dead. The orcs had outnumbered him, and he was not much of a fighter. He had been injured, and his aim with the bow was worse than usual. He didn't think he had even hit the orc he'd fired at. "What?"_

"_I am told you are very brave. That you went after the prince despite your own injuries and_ _managed to rescue him."_

_Varyar shook his head. "I do not remember that."_

"_Young Legolas speaks endlessly of your valor and heroism," the elf went on, smiling slightly as he did. "Indeed, he cannot stop telling the tale."_

"_I do not think he remembers the part of how he came to be caught in the first place, then, for that was the true part I played in it. Had I not been foolish enough to be hurt, he would not have been there for them to take, and that is what my part was, not what he thinks. There is no hero here." Varyar tried to sit up, and when he did, he saw his arm out and exposed, and he yanked down his sleeve, uncertain if the mark had been there to be seen or not. He did not want it to be, but he could never be certain when the writings would reappear on his skin or not._

"_What is it you seek to conceal, young one?"_

"_Please do not call me that," Varyar whispered, for another had done so, had even spoke them while creating the marks that he hated so much._

_The elf lifted his arm, pushing back the sleeve. "The one who left these marks upon you, did he address you so?"_

_Varyar swallowed, wishing he could get away from the too-knowing look of the elf-lord before him. "If I am healed, may I not go? I do not want to stay here—I was planning on leaving, and it is not something that I should delay and—"_

"_I know the pain you suffer is great," the older elf told him, and Varyar looked away from him, unable to face the understanding that was there, for he felt sure that the elf-lord knew all, even what he had not spoken of to anyone, not even Mithrandir, and wished beyond reason to forget. "The marks upon you do not ease their hold, even when they fade."_

_Firyavaryar would have lied, would have said he knew nothing of what the other elf spoke, but he knew that the elf-lord had seen it all already. "I do not feel pain. I wish to leave. Where is Sérëdhiel? And Idhrenion? Where is my family?"_

"_Those marks cannot be hidden forever. Nor can the malice with which they were made. You know of what I speak," the elf-lord said. "The one who marked you has claimed you."_

"_No!" Varyar shouted, trying to rise. "He says I am his, but I am not. I will never serve him, nor will I ever allow him to take my family. Long have we run, long have we hidden, and we will still run, still hide, and perhaps someday when we are strong enough, we will fight, but we will_ never_ surrender to him. Not while I live."_

"_Valiant is your heart and fitting your name," the elf-lord told him, his voice giving away what Varyar thought was pity. "Yet I do not know that you can stand against this darkness. Much of your future is concealed from me."_

"_I did not mean to bring this trouble to Greenwood. We were only to pass through, not to stop, but I... I could not turn back from the injured, from the lure of the peace the prince offered us. Will the people here suffer because of me?"_

"_It is difficult to know. There is a great darkness that pursues you, yet its source is unclear."_

"_I do not know who he is, though I know he thinks he can claim all Avari and bind them under his will," Varyar said, wincing. "It was not our choice to turn from the journey. That was made by our parents and their parents before them. I know I cannot ask the elven realms for assistance, and I have not. I did not tell the king or Legolas of what pursues us—I know Legolas well enough to know that he would pledge all to my aid, but that is not his to give."_

"_It is not," the elf-lord agreed. He sat back. "I see now what Mithrandir insisted was within you."_

_Varyar lowered his head. "I only sought knowledge in his books that might free me and my family. I did not intend to steal anything, and I cannot ask for his forgiveness."_

"_Peace, Varyar." The elf-lord smiled as he used the name his family had shortened Firyavaryar's to, the one the prince favored and insisted fit him. "Mithrandir thinks highly of you, and it was because of his words that I answered the call from Thranduil in person. He asked only for the aid of one of my healers for the elf that saved his son. I came that I might know this one."_

"_You are Lord Elrond?" Varyar felt sick at this revelation. That the lord of Imladris had come here because of him..._

"_I am. I have sat with you many nights since the orc poison and infection set in upon you. In your delirium, you were unreachable, even in your mind, and I thought that to be the work of the one whose marks you bear."_

"_I would have agreed, my lord, if not for Legolas telling me that Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion are equally unreachable. It must have been done to those of us without the favor of the Valar. When our people rejected them, our minds were cut off from all."_

"_You are wise for one so young."_

"_What little my parents told me before my mother was slaughtered was done in preparation of this task that now faces me—keeping my family safe from the one that they feared. More I learned when he tormented me, and everything else I studied as I tried to keep us from his hold. I do not know enough, though." Varyar drew in a breath. "Do you think the Valar could forgive two too young to know the choice their ancestors forsook? Do you think they would accept my brother and sister in Valinor? I know the taint in me will not permit it, but if they could go... I would gladly send them rather than let him have any part of the army he seeks."_

"_I said your future was uncertain," Elrond began. "I did not say that there was no part for you or your family to play in the fate of Middle Earth. You will be needed. You will be called upon. How you will answer will still be your choice."_

_Varyar turned away. He knew that he did not want to serve the one who had tried to take him, the one that had killed his parents and sought to corrupt his family, but he had to admit that he had found no other solution than leaving the land. The taint upon him would grow, and he would fall to the shadow. That was inevitable. That was what Elrond was not telling him._

"_I would not hurt Legolas," Varyar whispered. "Yet I must. They say I have taken over the mind of the prince—I have not, but that will not dissuade them—and as this one pursues my family, we have remained here for too long. I must be allowed to leave, and it must be before Legolas can stop me. I know him. I know he would fight beside me, but he cannot."_

"_A time will come for confrontation with the one that hunts you."_

"_I know. I expect it to end with my death."_


	11. Unwanted Companions

**Storms in Middle Earth  
Chapter Eleven  
Word Count:** 4,844**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really.**  
Author's Note:** I struggled with Aragorn's reaction. I did. I ended up writing three versions of it, and none of them pleased me well, so I took what I could from each and combined them and actually split them and what I got was... well, it works to progress the story, at least. :/

The bit of song Sérëdhiel sings is from the arwen-undomiel site again, transcribed from The Two Towers movie. Their translation of it is: _You are not bound to loss and silence. For you are not bound to the circles of this world. All things must pass away, all life is doomed to fade. Sorrowing you must go. _That seemed fitting for this chapter and that scene, so I used it.

* * *

**Unwanted Companions**

_He should have been dead long before this, but when the smell of death came to him, there in the dark, he did not understand. He was alone. He was not dead—he was still thinking. He must be alive. He knew this dark place could not be the fabled halls of... He did not remember who those halls belonged to, and he could not say why he knew that he was not there._

_He was alive, but something here in this darkness was dead._

_He did not know that he did not think it the more fortunate of the two of them._

* * *

"_Uich gwennen na 'wanath ah na dhín. An uich gwennen na ringyrn ambar hen. Boe naid bain gwannathar, boe cuil ban firitha. Boe naer gwannathach..."_

Aragorn almost thought he was hearing the Evenstar sing, a haunting melody that had him thinking something of death. He remembered her as he had seen her in the forests of Lórien, and he knew he must be dreaming, even though his eyes had opened.

The land still seemed as though it belonged in that dream, the mist lingering around them despite the advent of daylight. Aragon blinked, watching the _elleth_ as she moved, her song not ceasing as she tended to her friend, a small frown on her face. He did not know how he could have thought she was the Evenstar. Though her voice was beautiful, among the best of elven songbirds he had heard, she was not half so fair as Arwen or either of her celebrated kin, Galadriel or Celebrían, and the darkening bruise on the side of her face and her soiled garments did not help her appearance. Her hair might have been lustrous once, but now it was as tangled and dirtied as the rest of her.

He turned his eyes to the one she tended. Perhaps once she was more beautiful than her healer, but it was impossible to see under the grime and bruises. Her skin was paler than he'd ever seen an elf before, and he did not know why she had not faded yet.

He crawled forward, his movements slow and his body feeling heavier than usual. Reaching the _elleth's _side, he winced as he saw the other's true state. He had only a slight memory of someone dumped like baggage, and he hadn't thought that it was an elf, not until now when he was able to look at her. Her breaths hardly seemed to come at all, and she did not seem to have eaten in months if not longer. "Do you believe she will waken?"

"I do not know," the other _elleth _answered, her voice troubled as she spoke, and he regretted interrupting her song. "This is not the first time she has suffered, and the orcs delighted in tormenting her. Idhrenion got himself hurt trying to stop them. Do you know—I did not see him, so I cannot—did Varyar see her like this?"

"For a moment, perhaps, but not to know her true condition," Aragorn answered slowly, holding back his anger at the mention of the other elf's name and watching her as he spoke. He had assumed the one working to heal to be Sérëdhiel, but perhaps she was not. If that one was Sérëdhiel, then that would have indeed been a blow for the traitor. "Why?"

She lowered her head as though she might be delivering a prayer. "I am glad of that. Perhaps some hope is better than none, though he has always hated when hope is false."

"What are you talking about?"

She hesitated, as though she might tell him, but her friend moaned, and she shook her head. "It is nothing. Excuse me. My friend needs assistance."

"I have herbs with me," Aragorn said, for even though he could not forgive Firyavaryar's betrayal, he did not want to see any of the ones that Legolas had been traded for suffer. If these were the price of his life, then they all must survive. "You can use them to—"

"I already have," she told him. She gave him a slight smile, and he reconsidered. This must be Sérëdhiel. She looked too much like Firyavaryar when she did that. "I did not bother asking for your permission—you took the longest to wake from the slumber, aside from Eruaistaniel. I think that must have be because you are human. I did not do anything to aid you. I did not see any injuries besides some minor scrapes, but you may continue to feel the effect of that unnatural slumber—if that is even what it was. I cannot say for certain."

Aragorn nodded. He didn't know what that was. If it were a spell only, it was more powerful than the ones that he had known. More was behind that than he understood yet, but he would determine that later. First these ones had to be seen to—and then he would go after the traitor and recover Legolas.

"Ranger, I believe you wish to help, but you cannot be here when she wakes. If you want to be of aid, go and see to my brother. I was not able to do much for him as Eruaistaniel's state is so poor."

He looked across their impromptu campsite for the first time since he woke. He had not seen Alassë earlier, but she held the one that must be Idhrenion in her lap, cradled against her. In the light of the sun it was easy to see the mark of tears on her face.

Sérëdhiel looked toward her brother, her words pained. "He did not remain conscious for long, though in his condition, it was a blessing. I could not persuade him not to be so defiant. He said that was what Varyar would have done, but I cannot say that it was right, even if it might have been true."

From what Aragorn had seen, there was no defiance in Firyavaryar. He'd given himself over to that being, and he'd given that thing Legolas as well. That was not defiance. That was surrender.

"Where is Nostalion?"

"He went for supplies to make a litter for them. Idhrenion and Eruaistaniel cannot walk. They must be carried, and while Nostalion is strong, he cannot lift them both. Alassë has not the strength even for Eruaistaniel in her condition."

"What of you? Can you walk?"

Sérëdhiel flinched, and he knew she had not wanted to admit to her own injuries. "I... I am not certain. At present, my ankle is swollen and very tender, but I will manage if necessary. I will not be left behind, and I will not be a burden."

"Let me look at your ankle. If it can be treated—"

"Idhrenion first," she said, her voice firm. "He needs more than I do, and I told you—you cannot be here when Eruaistaniel wakes."

Aragorn frowned. "I assume you are not planning on going to Mirkwood for help. If your home is as far as I think it must be, you will have to treat that ankle before you start out. If you allow me to see it now, it can be mending as you help her. Do not be as stubborn as your—"

A scream cut through the air, and she took her friend's hand, whispering words of comfort as she held it. "It is well, Eruaistaniel. You are free. Stop, breathe the air. See how free it is. Look about you. We are in the light again. We are free. It is well. Calm yourself."

Eruaistaniel clung to her friend with fingers so thin they looked to break with the grip, and Sérëdhiel resumed her singing, trying to soothe her friend.

He reached for his herb pack. "You can make her something to care for the pain and the anxiety. It will soothe—"

His words made the _elleth _shriek again, and she tried to scramble away from him. He heard the others calling her name, Alassë leaving her husband to rush to Eruaistaniel's side. Both she and Sérëdhiel tried to speak to her, but Eruaistaniel would not stop screaming long enough to listen.

"What is this?" Nostalion demanded, yanking Aragorn up by the arm, putting a dagger to his throat. "What did you do to her?"

"Peace, Nostalion. He only tried to help her with the herbs. He did not know that she is terrified of Men," Sérëdhiel told him, going from her patient to her husband and touching his arm, drawing away his blade with mostly her voice. "It is well, _melethron. _She will calm soon."

Nostalion let go of Aragorn, moving away in disgust. "She will _never _be well, not after what they did to her."

Aragorn watched them, drawing in a breath and forcing himself not to go after the elf. He had acted for the wounded _elleth's _sake, and for that, he could be pardoned—though it was difficult, angry as he was over the betrayal that he considered Nostalion a part of. "You told me only that I should not be there when she woke. You did not say she had suffered at the hands of men."

Alassë shook her head. "You want more of an explanation than that, and that is an answer you cannot be given."

"Against the rules, is it?"

"Watch yourself, _echil,"_ Nostalion warned. "Do not mock what you do not understand."

"What you see in Eruaistaniel is, in part, the consequence of breaking the rules," Sérëdhiel said, returning to her friend's side. "It is not a small matter, nor is she the only one who has endured terrible punishment for that crime."

Nostalion reached down to touch her shoulder, and she covered his hand with hers, looking up at him with such tenderness that Aragorn frowned. Was she saying, then, that Nostalion, too, had broken the rules and suffered for it? That this was part of the answer, then, to what made him and Alassë hate Men so much, and yet now Aragorn could not care what their motivation was.

Firyavaryar had given Legolas to the darkness, and both Nostalion and Alassë had helped him do it. Why should Aragorn care if they had suffered in the past? He did not.

"Were you able to gather the wood for the litter?" Sérëdhiel asked her husband. "If not, perhaps this man can—"

"I do not need his help," Nostalion said, giving Aragorn a dark look. "And I doubt he is willing to give it."

"Not now," she said, shaking her head. "We are wounded and cannot afford prejudice now—"

"It is not mine you should worry about, _meleth," _Nostalion told her. "It is _his. _He will not forgive what your brother has done."

* * *

Legolas' head ached, and he did not want to open his eyes, knowing somehow that the pain would be worse when he did. He did not understand. When Firyavaryar or Nostalion had given them the unnatural sleep, it had not hurt. Whatever the other one had done, it was not the same. It had been meant to cause pain.

It was, though, nothing compared to the ache in his heart when he contemplated Firyavaryar's betrayal. Legolas opened his eyes to darkness, and he grimaced before he pushed himself up, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light. He leaned against what he assumed was the wall, trying to know how to feel.

A part of him wanted to believe that Varyar had not betrayed him, that when Legolas emerged from this darkness, he would find himself somewhere safe, that it was only a trick used to give Firyavaryar time to fight the monster and free them all. Another part of him could not stop doubting. He did not know that _any _of it had been true. If that thing had truly only _allowed _Varyar to think he was free, if he had _sent _Varyar and his siblings into Mirkwood, if he'd killed their mother so that he could bond with Legolas... Then none of that friendship that had meant so much to Legolas had any meaning at all.

He wanted to close his eyes and weep. He did not want that much of his childhood to be a lie, but he did not know that he dared believe that Varyar had not been deceiving him from the beginning. Yes, the words that his "master" had said suggested that he might not have known, but it would only hurt more if Legolas let himself trust Varyar again.

"You have awakened."

Legolas stilled, not knowing where the voice had come from. He should have been able to tell that he was not alone, even in this place, but his elven senses had been tricked again, and he did not like it. What gave this thing its unnatural stealth?

"Do you wish to see your future?"

The words made him snort with contempt. "What is it you think to show me? An orc? Is it your intention to torment me into one of them? And shall I now cower with fear of what you will do to me? I am not afraid of you."

"No?" The figure grabbed him, dragging him up by the hair, and Legolas refused to cry out, even though one thing had not changed in all the centuries he'd been alive—having his hair pulled _hurt._ He knew that there were worse pains to come, and he would not start his captivity by complaining over something so small. "You _will _be."

Legolas yanked himself free, seeing strands of his hair caught in the thing's glove. "If you seek to kill me, you have already started to achieve that end. You have poisoned one of the things I held most dear, and if you decide to torture me, I will fade. Is my death truly your goal?"

"Your death? If I wanted such a thing I could have had it centuries ago. Do not think it was not within my power to command. Every day you spent with my pet was a day that could have been your last. True, he did not have his current affliction then, and it might not have been so simple, but I assure you, if I had wished to end your life, I could have had him do it in an instant."

Legolas tried not to shudder. He didn't want to believe that. Varyar had feared the darkness, service to a dark lord like this one, and he would not have given into it. He was too strong.

Only he had never been strong at all, had he? That had always been some kind of pretense. Everything that Firyavaryar had done, everything he'd said, that was all a manipulation, wasn't it? He had used the story about his mother to gain Legolas' trust, just like killing the orc, and with those things, he had a lifelong fool for a friend, one he could hand over to his master when the time came.

Still, if this thing was not lying about killing him, then it must have another purpose in mind for him. He did not think it was as bait for his father, though there were others that would have used him that way. This was different.

The cellar. The story Firyavaryar had told him. Legolas was no longer an elfling, but that might not matter. If this one sought to bring together an army of elves before, he might still want that now. Melkor might have raised a force, but this was not Melkor. This was not even Sauron.

"I won't serve you."

"You are so quick to assume you know what I want, little prince. Do not fool yourself. Your fate is already set, as was that of my dear little pet," the voice told him. "I will start by showing you what happens to those that defy me."

"You intend to hurt your pet?" Legolas asked, and a part of him felt sick knowing that, not wanting anything to happen to his friend, even though another part of him wanted not to care after Firyavaryar had betrayed him.

Laughter answered his question. "You still care about him, don't you? He remains your friend after all that he has done to you?"

Was there any way that Firyavaryar could still be a friend? He had said he was not, he had done his best to turn Legolas from this quest, and then he had turned him over to this thing. Those were not the actions of a friend, were they?

"I did not say he was my friend. I asked if you planned to hurt him."

"My pet is mine to do with as I will. As are you, and it is time you learned that," the voice said. Legolas heard the sound of many orcs just before the order came. "Bring him. Now."

* * *

"What do you mean he will not forgive what my brother has done?" Sérëdhiel asked, frowning. "What does this ranger have to do with my brother giving his life for ours?"

Aragorn stared, almost unable to believe that she did not know. How could she not? He supposed that he should be comforted by the fact that Nostalion kept things from his wife as well, but he was not. This silence just made him angrier.

"Nothing," Nostalion said, giving Aragorn another dark look. "He was not even supposed to be there. If he had not been, things might not be as they are now."

"I wish that they could be otherwise," she whispered, her voice pained. "I would have liked to have seen him again, just once, to say goodbye."

Nostalion touched her shoulder, kneeling down to place his arms around her. "He would not want you to fade for his sake. He gave all for your freedom. Do not let it be in vain."

She leaned her head against his chest, taking comfort from him. For Aragorn, this was as unbelievable as it was infuriating. He did not know how to accept this gentler side of Nostalion—or the fact that he was talking more, especially when he was still keeping the truth from his wife. Protecting her from the wrong her brother had done would not help her. Nostalion could not excuse Firyavaryar's behavior, could not make the betrayal go away by pretending that it had not happened.

If Firyavaryar had _told _Legolas what was happening, if he would have been honest just once in this entire thing, then perhaps this could have been avoided. The fact that he did not—did that mean that he had he always intend to betray Legolas? Was that it just a fortunate accident, crossing his path? Aragorn did not know. He did know that he would not let this lie continue.

"You have to tell her the truth. Only a coward hides behind a lie, even if it is one done by omission only," Aragorn said, and Nostalion's eyes darkened. He let go of his wife, rising.

"What are you talking about?" She asked. "If you are going to suggest that my brother did not sacrifice for us, that he was somehow responsible for this—"

"I am not speaking of your brother's sacrifice. I speak of his betrayal," Aragorn said, and she frowned at him, her eyes troubled as she tried to reach for her husband's hand. "I see he didn't tell you—he gave them _Legolas _for you."

She shook her head. "No. That is not possible. Varyar would not return to Greenwood for any reason. He swore that—he would not risk returning to Legolas no matter how much he missed him. We asked him for centuries to go back to Greenwood, but he would not. My brother not seen Legolas in centuries. He would never betray him. He stayed away to protect him. The threat was too great."

Aragorn shook his head. "The threat was your brother."

"Enough," Nostalion said, and Aragorn found a dagger at his neck before he could react. He had not realized the elf's speed or his strength, unable to reach for his own blade as his arm was bent back to keep him from it. "You will _not_ continue to speak that way about him when he did it to save _your _life. Repeatedly he told you both to turn back, once we left you, and yet you persisted. He knew what would happen if you followed, the choice he would have to make—one I did not agree with—but you two remained and forced his hand."

"Did we? What kind of plan could he possibly had for getting his family back if he had not handed Legolas over to shadow as a prize?"

"It would have been Nostalion," Sérëdhiel said, choking on her words. "I would have lost both of you, wouldn't I?"

"No. Varyar was determined not to let it be both of us."

"He had decided to make the trade for Idhrenion only," she whispered, looking over at Alassë, who lowered her head as she started to cry again. "No, he was right. Your baby deserved a father. That is more important than my freedom."

"You still believe that your brother is a good person? When he not only betrayed Legolas but he would have left you there?" Aragorn demanded, twisting in Nostalion's grip, trying to get himself free. "I do not believe this."

"You can believe what you _want, _mortal. It is clear you will never accept Varyar's choices, even the one that saved your life," Nostalion said, giving Aragorn's arm another jerk before letting him go, shoving him to the ground. "You stand there and think him so unworthy when it is _you _that is unworthy. You are angry that he turned your friend over to Ogol. I am angry because he did not give that thing _you. _I do not think, even if you live through this now, that you will ever be king. Look at you. You have turned your back on that, haven't you? You will make no claim for it, and what Firyavaryar did was for nothing, wasted on pathetic mortal like you."

"You?" Sérëdhiel asked, her dismay obvious in her words and her face. _"You _are the heir to the throne of Gondor? The hope of Men?"

Nostalion regarded Aragorn with contempt. "That is what that ring means. That is what he is—the last of his kind and supposedly more worth preserving than Firyavaryar himself or his oldest friend. I always knew your brother was a fool, but I did not think he was _that_ sort of fool."

Sérëdhiel stared at Aragorn, not even noticing as her husband stalked off into the woods. Her expression hardened. "I do not care what ring you bear or what blood you supposedly have. You are not worth Legolas' life, and I do not know how my brother could have thought so. He loved him as his own. We all did. He was our _gwedeir. _This is not possible. Varyar would not do that to Legolas."

Aragorn frowned. She spoke with such conviction that he could almost believe her. "Sérëdhiel—"

"I do not know what friendship you have with Legolas or how such a thing is possible, and I do not expect you to forgive my brother, but I do not want to hear more from you," she said, shaking her head. "You may hate Firyavaryar to the end of your days, but I will love him to the end of mine, and I will not hear you speak against him again. I must see to Idhrenion now."

* * *

His pride wounded as his body now was, Legolas told himself that there were just too many orcs. He had not been able to stand against them. Perhaps he could have if he'd been armed, but he could only kick and shove so many away at a time, could not hope to snap enough necks or limbs to stop what seemed like an endless horde.

He would not be on his feet if not for the orcs holding him, their foul stench crowding his nose and adding to the cracked ribs in his difficulty to breathe. He did not know how much longer he would manage to stay conscious, but the orcs seemed determined to move him forward, ushering him to where their master wanted him.

"You are late."

Legolas frowned, looking over at the blurry hood and wondering if he would be able to keep his stomach. He did not know if the being spoke to him or to the orcs, but he was not one to be summoned. He was not a servant of that thing, and he would _never _be one.

"I see they have had to work to subdue you. That is fitting."

"Is it? I thought you wanted someone that could be bent to your will."

The other laughed, and Legolas figured that under that hood he was smiling. "You know little of what I want and do not want, little prince. You know nothing of me or my ambitions. You do not even know much of yourself."

"You are not a nazgûl. Not a wraith," Legolas said, uncertain how that knowledge had come to him, but even with the ache in his head and the rolling of his stomach and the pressure the orcs were putting on his injured arms, he knew that the thing next to him was not one of the nine.

"No, I am not, though appearing as one would expect them to has its uses. How clever you must be to have realized that." The glove reached out to grab Legolas' face. "I see such defiance in you, such intelligence and anger in those eyes. That will not help you here."

"What are you, then? Man? No, not if you were the one that killed Varyar's mother. Elf? Are you Avari, then? Have you turned to the dark arts and learned enough of them to think you can become a rival to Sauron?"

"Why would you assume me to be an elf and not a Maia?"

"You want elves for your army. That is why you took Firyavaryar, why you tortured his family, and perhaps even why you want me. I assume your bias to be because you are one of us."

Laughter came from under the hood. "I do not know that I can credit you with as much cleverness as you think you have. Perhaps that head wound has affected you more than you realized. It will, perhaps, lessen the effect of what I am to show you, but perhaps not. Either way, you will see the cost of such behavior."

The hand released him, and the orcs shoved him forward, and Legolas stumbled, dragged back to his feet by his captors. He kept his eyes on the robe. "Do you not have a name?"

"You must assume that anyone who craves power wants their name known. I do not." The hood gestured to a door. "In here is where you will see what comes of defiance."

"Yet even if you seek to hide in shadows what you are—letting people believe you are one of the nine or some other creature—you _have _a name."

"If you feel it necessary to use one, you may adopt the practice your friend had. He chose to call me Ogol," the voice sounded almost amused by that as a gloved hand pushed the door open, and Legolas tried to prepare himself for the state he would see Varyar in, but even without much light, he could tell that the creature bound in this chamber was not his friend—_former_ friend.

"Were you expecting my pet?" Ogol laughed. "No, little prince. I told you that you would see one who thought to defy me. Look well on this one, for he dared to think he could touch my pet. I allowed the punishment for a time, since I knew how defiant that pet had become, but once he freed himself from this one... Oh, the death he almost gave him was a mercy compared to me."

Legolas stared at the withered being, more bones than skin, cut and bleeding in several places, bruised in nearly every other, starved and left in his own filth. "That is the one who turned Varyar into a walking plague?"

"Seems impossible, doesn't it? He should have great power to do such a thing, and once, perhaps, he did, but he did not have anything to compare with mine, and he knew what he was doing when he tortured my pet. I left my mark, and still he thought to twist what belonged to another."

"You are brutal and perverse."

"There was a reason your friend named me Ogol."

Yes, there was, Legolas agreed. Middle Earth feared the return of Sauron, but here, now, he was facing a great evil, and he did not know how he would escape from it.


	12. The Things Heard

**Storms in Middle Earth  
Chapter Twelve  
Word Count:** 5,129**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really.**  
Author's Note:** So this ended up longer than intended, but as Sérëdhiel had information that the story (well, Aragorn) needed, because she was the only one who _would_ share it, and she wasn't talking to him, it had to come to where she was willing to talk. She still was not that pleased to do it (she was more stubborn than I realized,) but she did. That did push something else needed for the story to a later chapter.

And I have a question. Where is the best place to find the twins, Elrohir and Elladan? I managed to hook my nephew on the Lotr movies while he was visiting these past couple days, and I may be loaning my books to him, so I might not be able to do the rereading from the beginning that I'd hoped to start. Still, I've got ideas that could use the twins, and I'd like to read up on them if I can.

Oh, and I did write out that incident in the cellar, first mentioned in chapter six but referenced here again by Legolas a couple times. It is the story _Two Friends in the Dark, _should anyone want to see that in detail.

* * *

**The Things Heard **

_He was alone, but that did not mean that he did not hear things. The darkness was everywhere around him, but while he could not see, he _could _hear. He could hear more than he ever wanted to hear. He did not know what sort of creature was making that noise in some other distant place, but he knew well how it suffered, for he suffered the same._

_These walls still echoed with the sound of his screams, brought forth from his throat until he was too hoarse to cry out again. _

_He did not find the silence a relief._

* * *

"Did you know what he would do?"

Alassë lifted her head, her eyes blurred with unshed tears. Aragorn did not know what she had been told by her sister about her husband's condition, but it did not seem to be of any comfort to her now, as she sat beside him. From what he could see, Idhrenion was in a better state than Eruaistaniel, but not by much. Much of his skin was dark with bruises, and the swelling in his arm and hand showed broken bones.

"Firyavaryar, you mean?" Alassë shook her head. "I know you assume that I did, but I did not. Betrayal is an art that my family knows well, but I had never seen it in Firyavaryar before yesterday. I have seen him leave behind those he would protect, I have been one of them, but I have never seen him turn on those he considered his own—and Legolas was his own, at least to Idhrenion and Sérëdhiel. He never spoke of Legolas when I knew him."

Aragorn did not think that Alassë was lying, but then he did not know that he trusted any of the ones he now found himself left with, and he _had _come to ask her if she had known, after all.

"I told you before—I believed he sought death in going for Idhrenion. I was willing to accept that, for I _am _selfish. I did not care if we lost Firyavaryar as long as my husband survived," she said, and her honest was there in the raw words and tone. "You should not have helped me reach them. It sealed your friend's fate."

Aragorn frowned. "You think it was your presence that made him choose to betray Legolas?"

"It was _all _of ours," Alassë corrected. She lowered her head, and Aragorn would have questioned her further if he had not been distracted by the same feeling he'd gotten before when he heard the black speech of Mordor. He turned, seeing Nostalion had returned again, and this time he held Eruaistaniel, speaking _to _her in that tongue. "She used to find it comforting."

"Comforting?" Aragorn could not hide the shock in his words. "How can that be comforting?"

"When Firyavaryar and Nostalion first returned, that was all they spoke. That was the language they used when they saved her from those... _men. _That was the language Firyavaryar used when he promised she would have his protection. It _was _a comfort." Alassë took her husband's hand and kissed it, watching her cousin. "I do not know that it will be now, after orcs, but it might yet."

Aragorn continued to frown. "I find myself doubting my eyes. Nostalion is gentle. That does not seem possible."

Alassë laughed. "It is simple, Edain. His heart is back."

"His heart?"

"Sérëdhiel." Alassë gave him that look to say he was being a stupid human. "You would not understand, and I cannot tell it, not all of it. It is that... while he forged a bond with Firyavaryar in their escape, it was Sérëdhiel who was the first to accept him despite what he had been and what had been done to him before they returned. She did not do it out of necessity but because she has too much kindness in her. Even if she had not chosen to bond with him, he would have valued her above all others for that alone."

"You do not accept Nostalion?"

"No. I—It is complicated, and I cannot tell you that, either. I think Sérëdhiel would have you told all that you might understand, but she has never lived with the rules the way we have. She has always had Firyavaryar, and she fears nothing when he is with her."

"Why should she? He would kill to protect her, he would die for her, and he has betrayed friends for her."

"Stop being a fool, Edain. I know you are angry. You are right to be angry. Yet you will help no one if you talk the way you do. If you want Nostalion's help to find your way to Legolas again, you have to restrain your tongue around him and Sérëdhiel. And Idhrenion. Around all of us, I suppose. I have been tolerant, but they love Firyavaryar beyond reason. You will only anger them if you continue to speak against him, no matter _what _he has done."

"Do you think there is a reason that justifies his actions?"

Alassë almost laughed. "In that he gave that thing Legolas and not you? No. Were it me, I would have trade him you. I believe you will find all of us of similar mind."

"So why would I want help from any of you?"

"Because you call yourself a tracker," she answered. "If there was anything for you to track so that you might go after your friend, you would already have done so."

* * *

Legolas could hear his own breathing, and he did not need a trained healer to know how poor his state was. The cracked ribs were the most troublesome, making it difficult to rest upon the hard ground, and if he could not rest, he could not heal. He did not know, in honesty, if he _wanted _to heal. He had felt this before, this ache, this agony, pain in his heart so intense that it wanted to take him from this land. He did not know that he was strong enough to stay.

He had lost Firyavaryar before, and he had mourned. He had thought he had let go of all that pain, that the centuries that passed made it lessen. He had thought he had accepted his friend as gone, but he had deceived himself. He had still held onto hope that he would see Varyar again, that they would be friends as they were, and that all could be as it was. That was why this betrayal hurt as much as it did.

"_I do not understand," Legolas said, watching the rain fall down on Greenwood and cover it with a gloom that seemed only fitting after he discovered the departure of his best friend and all his family. He had just spent anxious days waiting for Firyavaryar to recover, and he had been relieved only a few hours ago to see that Varyar had woken. He was not supposed to be gone. "I told him that he did not have to go. He was not _well _enough to go. Why has he gone?"_

"_You knew he was planning to leave," the lord of Imladris said, coming up to stand beside Legolas, his arms folded behind him._

"_Yes, I did. It was why we were arguing the day the orcs attacked," Legolas agreed, shaking his head. He did not understand how Varyar could leave after that. "Did he not see that he could not go, not when our argument led to what it did? Why could I not convince him to stay? Why was it that he would not listen?"_

"_You told him you wanted him to stay."_

_Legolas nodded. "Every day. I don't care what the others say. He's not poisoning my mind. He's not manipulating me to get to my father. He's not a sorcerer. He has put me under no spell. He might be Avari—but I do not think he acts like one. He is my friend. That is all that matters. I have told him all this. I keep telling him this, but he will not listen. He still thinks that he must go. He _has _gone."_

"_You say you have told him all this."_

"_I have."_

"_You have said much," Lord Elrond told him, "but have you listened?"_

Thinking back now, Legolas wondered if the elf-lord had known more than he did, if Firyavaryar had told him of the one that killed his mother, if Elrond knew of Ogol and his work. If Legolas had only been more willing to listen—he had thought he was so good at figuring out what Varyar did not say, but he had not listened close enough, had missed the hints and even the overt statements. He knew now that Varyar had told him of Ogol at least once, but he had not understood.

He had not _wanted _to understand. He had been so confident as a child, so sure that he knew all that bothered his friend and that he could make those things go away with time. Everyone would see him for what Legolas did as long as they were both patient. Varyar would prove what he was—a loyal, true friend—and none of those accusations would matter. He had assumed so much, and he had caused himself and others a great deal of grief because of it.

Now he had been betrayed. He lay in the darkness, not knowing if Ogol had kept his word about freeing the others, not knowing if Varyar was still alive, and the guilt weighing upon him made him want to fade. He had not done this, no, but he had still made it possible. He had held on past reasonable hope, and he had let that blind him.

Why had he not listened to Estel's counsel? Why had he been so stubborn?

Why did a part of him still want to be that foolish?

He must hold to some hope. Even though he did not know the fate of any of the others, he knew that despite Varyar's actions, he was glad that Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion were free. He did not know if Ogol had kept his word about not harming any of those he did not take, but Legolas knew that he must believe that Estel was still alive. A true friend, Estel would find some way to help him.

He would have to return to Mirkwood for that. Legolas had to keep himself alive at least long enough to allow for Estel to make that journey.

Legolas would be stubborn for a few days more.

* * *

"I know you have no wish to hear me speak, and I find myself no less uneasy in your company," Aragorn began, catching Sérëdhiel as she made to return to Idhrenion's side. "You are all companions—family—friends of the elf that betrayed one I see as my own brother. That I cannot forget or forgive. However, I have seen your limping, and I know by the state of these others that not even an elf as strong as your husband can carry the litter of two and assist both you and your sister. You need to tend to that ankle or you will not make it far."

She lowered her head. He did not think that she wanted aid from him, and he did not know that he wanted to give it. Still, as he had told himself earlier, he was not going to let the lives that Legolas had been traded for be lost. He had paid too high a price for them, and therefore none of them could be allowed to die.

"Let me see to your ankle."

She sighed, sitting down to permit him to examine it. "What is your intention, heir of Isildur? What do you plan to do after you have applied herbs to my ankle?"

He did not know how she had been standing on this thing at all—she might have taken something for the pain, though he doubted it. She seemed to think the limited supply of herbs was for her brother and Eruaistaniel only. As it was, he knew her to be at least as stubborn as her brother if not more so. "I refuse to let any of the ones whose lives that were purchased at the cost of Legolas' own die, so that is what I am doing now."

"Is it? And is that why you consulted with Alassë? Do not think to fool me, Ranger. I know well how King Thranduil will react when he hears what my brother has done. You cannot convince us to go to Greenwood, not for any kind of aid—and I, for once, find myself comforted that Alassë is so stubborn about keeping to that accursed silence her family demands."

"I do not know what else to do," Aragorn admitted. He did not believe that Idhrenion or Eruaistaniel would survive a trip back to their home, and Alassë had guessed correctly about his inability to track anyone from this spot. "I can see no trace of the orcs or the one who took Legolas or your brother. It is as if they were not here at all."

"Perhaps it is we who were not _here _at all," Sérëdhiel said, and Aragorn frowned, stopping his attentions to her ankle. She smiled. "We were all asleep, weren't we? It is no more trouble to move us than it is to hide their tracks. From what little my brother has told me of that monster, it would have been like him to force Varyar to do it all, since he would leave little trace."

Aragorn could not deny the logic of her words. "That fits other than your brother's condition. He was brought down by storms and wounded in some manner that he would never let anyone see."

She winced. "He is fortunate that he is an elf. I do not think anyone of mortal race could have sustained themselves after what was done to him."

"Do you know what was done to him?"

"The whole of the torture he has suffered? No." She met Aragorn's gaze and held it. "Even if I did know and was to tell you all of it, would it change how much you hate him? I do not believe that it would, so let us not waste time with pointless conversations."

Aragorn thought he could admire the quiet strength she possessed. She was no warrior, but she did not need to be. She was just as forceful as anyone seasoned by combat might be, and he did not know that the stories about her were entirely exaggerated.

"Alassë seems to think your husband can track Legolas."

She nodded. "He can."

That was difficult to believe. If they had been moved in their forced slumber—and he liked her theory of it better than he did the idea of so many orcs being able to disappear without a trace—and he could find no sign of anyone coming and going, not even then. He had almost blamed that on that strange mist, but that should have made more signs possible.

"How?"

Sérëdhiel shook her head. "I think it is best we part company, for you bear me and mine nothing but contempt, and I cannot say that we do not feel the same. Our feelings regarding Varyar will always divide us, and that sort of distrust does make for pleasant traveling."

"You say that Legolas was as dear to you as your own. That thing has your brother. Why would you turn away from a chance to get them back?"

"Idhrenion and Eruaistaniel are dying, and Nostalion is all I have to get them to a place where they can heal. You will need more than what you have to free Legolas, and you would never follow my husband a second time. This is another wasteful conversation." Sérëdhiel rose. "Excuse me."

* * *

"Wake, prince. It is time for you to see more of what lies ahead of you."

Legolas did not attempt to look toward Ogol's voice, not in this darkness. That seemed to remind him of what was gone, the gloom overcoming even elven sight, and he did not know that he felt like acknowledging that creature. Too much time had been given to it already. For a being that did not want his identity known, Ogol craved attention. The orcs were a part of that, but Legolas thought that was why Ogol had chosen Varyar as a pet. He wanted someone to serve him that was more than a mindless orc. He wanted an audience, one he felt that had the appropriate ability to appreciate what he was.

He would get only hatred and contempt.

"Would you like me to make them get you up, or would you rather rise on your own?"

Legolas grimaced. He did not want any "help" from the orcs. They would not be gentle with him—they would be under orders _not _to be—and he did not need to acquire more injuries. He would get plenty without choosing it, so why choose it if he did not have to? He did not have anything to prove by remaining where he was. This room was no safer than any other.

He forced himself up, still missing the light, needing something besides this darkness around him. If Firyavaryar had been kept in this kind of darkness by Ogol before, why had he not been terrified when Idhrenion locked them in that cellar? Why had he not panicked more than Legolas had as a wood elf? He did not understand.

"Come," Ogol ordered, and Legolas felt him grab his arm. He tried not to cry out as the hand tightened around his bruises, knowing that was what the other wanted. From what Ogol had said yesterday—was that yesterday or still today or a day before that? Legolas could not be certain of the time, not without the sun, the wind, and the earth to tell him, not when he was injured—he was not an elf, and yet he had claimed nothing else in its stead. Perhaps he was another fallen Maia. Melkor had corrupted Sauron, why not another?

Another who would have many reasons to conceal what he was from all.

What Legolas would not give for Mithrandir's wisdom now.

"Stop here," Ogol said, and Legolas frowned, not certain that they had moved at all. He did not like this. He was better at knowing his surroundings than this. He had learned his lesson about not forgetting them since Varyar's departure, and he was seldom caught unaware, not without great injury or interference. He knew Ogol had employed measures to trick the senses before, and even now he was, with this darkness and isolation. That was all part of whatever plan he had for Legolas, which he kept unclear to worry him.

Legolas did not need to know what it was so long as he kept himself strong for a possible rescue or made use of what opportunity might present itself to escape.

"Now we shall play a game," Ogol said, touching Legolas' shoulder and making him want to cry out in anguish—he had not realized that he'd hurt it so much. "I do so enjoy it—it is one of my favorites. Stretch out those elven ears of yours, prince, and tell me who it is that screams."

Legolas had not heard any screams, but before he could tell the monster by him that, he found himself assailed by many horrible cries, anguish and agony filling the air and almost knocking him over with their cacophony echoing against the walls of this dungeon.

Ogol dragged him back up when he faltered, his grip trying to take his injured arm from its already sore socket. "Tell me who screamed."

"I do not know."

"You do not? And here I heard so much about elven senses, especially those of the wood elves," Ogol said, feigning disappointment. He turned his already harsh grip into one that would leave more bruises. "Concentrate. You can tell them apart. You should know if it is an orc. If it is that pathetic being I showed you before—or if it is the one you call friend."

Legolas found himself staring at the outline of the hood, just slightly recognizable as different from the rest of the shadow. "You are torturing Varyar now?"

"Am I? You are the one who would know."

That was not true. Ogol knew what he was doing. He gave the orders here. He was well aware of everything that was being done. This was a game to him, twisted and perverse as it was, but he knew well what he did, what he expected Legolas to hear.

"And why would your orcs scream?"

"You should know that as well."

Legolas shook his head. "I do not, and I have no interest in playing your game. This is not amusing, not even interesting. You may as well put me back where I was. I will not be a part of this. You cannot intimidate me by torturing others and telling me it is my fate."

"If that is what you think I am doing, you are a fool," Ogol said, his voice harsh. "I do not need you intimidated for what I will do to you. There is also nothing you can do about playing my game. You will listen again. You will tell me what you hear, and if you do not—then I will cut off your ear."

Legolas flinched as the creature traced his gloved finger along his ear. He did not want to lose it, but he did not want to play this sick game, either. The screams started again, and this time he thought he understood them, though he did not want to. "Orcs."

"Very good. Shall we play again?"

"No."

* * *

"Sérëdhiel."

"I am going to help Nostalion load my brother onto—"

"You and Alassë speak of him as a tracker that has something beyond normal ability. Firyavaryar followed him and no map. Though I might guess where we are now, I do not know for certain, and while you and I may never agree on anything in the time we know each other, I _do _know that you are aware of what your brother is going through at this moment. You know how little time he has," Aragorn said, taking hold of her arm and making her look at him. He knew that it would not be long before her husband intervened, but he thought he might yet reach her before that happened. "He was wounded, and he would not let it be treated. The blood had soaked through his tunic."

She winced. "Then he would not have let anyone touch him. His blood is as poisoned as his skin. He would not want anyone harmed by it."

"I almost was," Aragorn admitted, voicing his thought aloud before it was quite formed in his mind. "I did not stop to think of it when he provoked me. I only thought of hurting him if he had been using Legolas all this time—and now I wish I _had _hurt him."

She yanked herself free from Aragorn's hold. "I do not know why you persist in doing this. We do not need your help to keep us alive. You want that to be your purpose because you feel thwarted in finding your friend, but I will not stay with a man that would have slain my brother thinking to prevent this. You judge him knowing nothing of him."

Aragorn could not apologize for his words. He still meant them. "He was not willing to tell me anything that would redeem him. He insisted that he was the one who would harm Legolas, and yet I am wrong to say that I wish I had prevented him from this?"

Her eyes were as cold as her brother's when she looked at him. "Varyar went to exchange himself in the place of Idhrenion. He knew Legolas would not let that happen. If he threatened Legolas, it was to get him to turn back, you idiot. What choice would Varyar have had when faced with that monster? He could not give him Alassë—she has a child. He could not give him Nostalion—his ability to track is too dangerous to let the shadow have. He could not give him you, the hope of men. He could not give the prince of Greenwood. He could give himself, but that would never be enough. He found a way to give two lives for seven. The only reason you disapprove of his math is because it includes your friend. If it had been Nostalion he offered, you would not hate my brother at all. Take your hypocrisy from me and go. I do not wish to speak to you again."

"You have said _nothing _to convince me that a mere tracker is worth concealing from the shadow. Perhaps your brother thought you would not fade if your husband lived and he died, but that does not mean—"

"You are named hope. You are said to be Lord Elrond's son," Sérëdhiel said, and Aragorn hesitated, glancing toward the others as he thought he was near the answers he wanted. "You know of Lady Galadriel. You know of great elven lords and even Istari, do you not?"

"What do they have to do with your husband?"

"Nothing in a personal sense. He has never met them," she said, letting out a breath, torn between her loyalty to her husband's secrets and her need to defend her brother's actions. "Nostalion was... bred. I mean that in the same sense as those who want lines of horses or other livestock. That was much the way he was treated. His mother was a wood elf, chosen for her affinity with the land and her people's natural way of tracking. He was trained as their assassin... and he was abandoned when he went against their wishes, abandoned to the monster that turned my brother into a walking plague. That same monster twisted my husband's heritage—his father had great mental gifts, that was how his mother was tricked—and made him a tracker like no one else in the Middle Earth. If he has met a person, he can find them anywhere, no matter where they might be."

Aragorn frowned. "I do not understand. That does not seem possible."

"If it is possible to enhance abilities with rings of power, if it is possible to turn elves into orcs, then why is it so impossible for someone's own body to be used against them?"

"I do not know that—I have heard of gifts of foresight, of elves that can contact each other across great distances, and I know of others that might be able to track things beyond their sight for a limited range, but to say that your husband can find someone no matter where they are—"

"He can. Once Nostalion has your 'taste,' the essence of who you are, he can find you anywhere, well beyond the range of any tracker I have ever known, and his ability works on those of us whose minds are blocked from even powerful elves. I cannot say that Galadriel ever tried to contact us, but I know Lord Elrond could not reach my brother, nor was Legolas or any other elf ever able to reach Idhrenion or me. _That _is why Varyar would not let Ogol take him. Even if you and Legolas had gone free, that would not have lasted—Nostalion would have been able to find you. You have been hunted all your life, but from this one you would never be free. No direction you turned would conceal you, no elven realm—even that dark lair of the monster himself cannot be concealed from my husband's mind."

Aragorn drew in a breath, releasing it as he tried to understand what she was saying. She was correct in saying that the possibility of it _could _exist, but to have such a thing be true, that was something he could not quite accept. He knew that Firyavaryar had always saidthat they had no map, just that they went where Nostalion led them. He had used his wife to do that tracking? Once he had answered a question about Idhrenion as if he knew the answer, and Aragorn had thought that meant that Nostalion was working with the one that had them captive, but if what his wife said was true, than he was not.

"Would Nostalion know Legolas' current location?"

She nodded. "Yes. He could tell you some of his physical state, too."

"Can he communicate with him?"

"No. Not in that sense. It is... It is not like what others have, though I cannot explain it better than I have." She sighed. "I should not have told you."

"Did you really think your husband would fall to the shadow so easily?"

Her eyes met Aragorn's, sharp and angry. "No, I do not. I know he has endured great pain and torture before, but then if my brother could be made to serve the one he has run from almost all his life because of us, why would that fate not be the same for Nostalion? It was loyalty to family that gave him this... _gift_ for tracking, and why should such a thing not trap him again? I know how devastating it would be for him to lose me, and if Ogol was able to get me once, he could easily do it again, and he would bend both my husband and my brother to his will. You know he does not consider your life worth Legolas' or Varyar's, so it would be no different if he had been traded. You would have been lost, Edain, and Varyar knew that when he picked Legolas. It is the only explanation I have for what my brother did, and I still cannot understand why he did not just choose you to begin with."

Aragorn grunted. He did not want to argue with her again. At the moment, they almost had a truce, but he would need more than that to convince her and her husband to help him get Legolas back. She tensed, turning toward the others.

"Someone comes," Nostalion called, and Aragorn reached for his bow as he moved toward the others. This position was too exposed, and they had too many that could not fight. If these were enemies, they could not hope to fight.

And Legolas' sacrifice would truly be in vain.


	13. Awkward Reunions

**Storms in Middle Earth  
Chapter Thirteen  
Word Count:** 5,251**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really.**  
Author's Note:** So... I only lent my nephew the Fellowship when he left today. I don't know if he'll read it, but of course it was after I did that that I found a bit about the twins that made me realize I did need to read part of that over for them. Guess that will have to wait. I did read part of RotK and the appendices which led to me knowing how badly I'd misjudged the timeline of events, meaning that I don't think this story actually works if one looks close at that.

And then I discovered I was using the elven dictionary wrong, and so I had to go fix that, changing plurals to singulars, and finding something to use in place of the many times I had "Edain." (I just couldn't bring myself to use the singular _Adan _when _Ada _is the word father. Something about that seems... wrong.) So now Aragorn ends up getting more insulted because they use _echil _instead, which means follower and came to mean man, but I'm think Varyar means it as "lackey."

And I told myself I wouldn't add this stuff in, but I had a lousy day at work, and I lost the battle with my good judgment more than once, so in it goes even if it is wrong...

* * *

**Awkward Reunions**

_He didn't recognize the sun when he first saw it._

_How he had fallen, how low he had traveled down in to the deepest pits of despair, that even the sun seemed as something foreign to him. He looked upon the light as an intruder, at the sound of the trees and animals around him as an invasion after so long in silence._

_He had thought he might be free, but all he knew now was a different sort of torture._

* * *

"They are elves."

Aragorn told himself he was relieved by this. While he did not trust the elves around him, and he knew he did not have as many friends among the Mirkwood elves as he would like—he knew several who would not listen to him without Legolas—and he could not say that the ones that Nostalion sensed were going to be more friendly than the ones that he was already with.

"Do you know who they are?"

Nostalion's glance was almost amused. "Why would I?"

Aragorn did not know if he had been listening to his wife's conversation, but if he was, his reaction to it was unclear. He could not say if the elf was annoyed or not. "I cannot tell from here if what approaches is friend or foe. You are an elf. You can."

"I recognize something," Nostalion said, speaking low. "Looking further is a distraction when we might have to fight."

"And with only the two of us to do that..."

Nostalion nodded, acknowledging the words as he prepared himself for what they were to face. Aragorn would have expected him to have noticed the horses, and he would have thought that elves from Mirkwood would not have come on horseback, preferring to remain quiet during their tracking, though he had not considered too much that they might desire greater speed. He would have told them there was no need—Firyavaryar's weakness to storms had kept their pace from outdistancing anyone too much, and he would not have believed they were that far from where Ehtyarion had last seen them, but then he did not know how long they had slept or how far they might have been moved in that time. Following Nostalion meant moving without a map, without many landmarks at all, and Aragorn was—much as he hated to admit it—lost.

"Where is Prince Legolas?"

That was a question that was going to cause a fight, and Aragorn didn't know that he wanted to explain that yet. He pulled Nostalion's bow down, earning a dark glare from the elf. He did not acknowledge it, too occupied with trying to find some explanation for the head of Legolas' guard that wouldn't get this group killed.

"Legolas is not with us at present," Aragorn began, for that was not a lie, and while it did not tell half the truth of what he knew his friend must be suffering, he could not allow himself not to be distracted now, nor allow his temper to rule him as it had with Sérëdhiel and Nostalion. He did not like it, but he did believe he needed that elf, and he was going to make sure that he could use him.

"Not with you at present? And are we then to assume that he has gone with that irresponsible friend of his for some sort of mischief? Their ways should have changed some in the centuries since they were elflings," the second rider said, and Aragorn frowned as he tried to place that one. Ehtyarion he knew well, but he did not think this one was known to him. "Speak up, Ranger. Where have they gone? I am not asking you to translate into dwarven speech. The answer should be simple."

"Tell... Varyar... stop mocking... Beridhren. Have not... seen him... centuries."

"It cannot be," that same rider said, sliding off his horse against the protests of Ehtyarion. He rushed over to Alassë's side. "Idhrenion?"

The wounded elf stared up at the older elf, frowning in confusion. "Have I... died? Is that why I see Beridhren?"

"No, little brother," Sérëdhiel said, taking Nostalion's arm to steady herself. "He is here. So is Ehtyarion, though he is considerably less pleased to see us."

Idhrenion's eyes almost shut, and he let out a breath that spoke to all his pain. "Did not think... you... remember me, Beridhren."

"Me? Forget the student I had with the most aptitude and willingness to learn? A student who appreciated my worth as a tutor?" Beridhren shook his head. "Were the prince even half as devoted to his studies as you were, young one, I would have been a proud teacher indeed."

Idhrenion smiled, but he grew weaker as he remained awake. "Want... meet... Alassë. She... _melleth..." _

Alassë flushed, but as she spoke, she recovered some of her composure. "Rest now, Idhrenion. You must rest if you are going to heal, and your teacher would tell you that, too, so do not make me resort to hitting you with your beloved books to get you to listen to me."

Beridhren frowned at her, but he did not let that deter him. "It is as you feared, Ehtyarion. Firyavaryar has indeed returned, even if I see him not. This is his brother, and he would not be parted from this one, nor from his sister."

"As you feared?" Aragorn asked, looking between the two elves. Had they seen Firyavaryar as a threat? If that was what Ehtyarion felt, why had he not stopped Legolas from leaving? Even if Aragorn had been with him, he knew that Ehtyarion's oath as Legolas' guard should have had him blocking their departure when they took Alassë with them to gather supplies.

"Peace," Sérëdhiel said, speaking to her husband. "Neither Beridhren or Ehtyarion were fond of my brother, not with the way they both walked into traps set for Idhrenion, not when they considered Varyar the worst sort of distraction from Legolas' various lessons."

"And still you would play the role of diplomat," Beridhren said, smiling as he addressed her. "You have lost none of your talent for it."

She bowed her head. "I am honored that you remember me. Well I recall your lessons, but I did not think I had such a place in your memory."

"I do not care for this... farce of a reunion," Nostalion said, drawing her back as his eyes darkened, watching Beridhren with contempt. He turned to Ehtyarion. "If you mean to have your archers attack us, give the order and stop pretending to be a friend when you are not."

Aragorn glanced toward the trees. He thought perhaps he caught a glimpse of one archer, but the others were too well-concealed. "There is no need to fight. We have injured here. They could use the care and protection of Thranduil's halls for a short time."

"And perhaps they might get it..." Ehtyarion began. "If I am told the truth of where Legolas is. Now."

* * *

Legolas could no longer call his ribs the most troublesome injury he had. He knew that it should not be this way, but the cut that began just above his ear, dipping its way down across his skin, in his flesh, threatening to take the tip off, _that _was the worst injury. He knew that was a foolish thought, but the side of his head ached enough to cause him so much pain that he could forget his ribs and his difficulty breathing.

Ogol had almost taken his ear when he tried to stop playing the twisted being's game, and he did not know now why he still possessed the ear. He had not thought that Ogol's blade would falter, so swift and deep was the cut that it was intended for what he'd threatened.

Nothing should have turned him from that course.

Legolas should not have two ears.

He tried not to shudder at the thought. He had to be stronger than this game that was being played with him, though he did not know that he had the strength of will he needed. His physical wounds were minor, in truth, from what he would have expected to endure in a place like this, but what Ogol did was not directed at Legolas' body.

Not even the cut on his ear was about that.

These games, these attacks, they were all aimed at his spirit itself, wounded already by the worst sort of arrow, the one that had flown with Varyar's words. He had given Ogol the prince of Greenwood, he had called Legolas a prize, and he had chosen his family's freedom over his friend's. Even knowing the choice he would make, Legolas had followed him.

He hated himself for his own decisions. He hated Varyar more, and yet he did not hate enough. Were anger enough to push away all the memories of his childhood, of the things that he had shared with those he had loved as his own—not just Varyar but Idhrenion and Sérëdhiel as well—then Legolas would gladly adopt that hate as a means of survival, but he knew that it was not capable of that.

The very memories he would push away were the ones that would keep the anger strong, the ones that gave the betrayal the depth to cause the pain it did. To have a stranger betray him would have been almost nothing, especially not if that stranger was of some race or kingdom that had a dislike for his kind or his homeland, but to have one that had been there through laughter and games and training and lessons and maybe even tears—no one wanted to admit to them, not when he had grown and left them behind, when he had lived centuries as a warrior and was known as one of the best archers in the whole of Middle Earth—but Legolas knew that sometimes there _had_ been tears. Varyar had witnessed those tears, those moments others would consider weakness.

Legolas had seen Varyar's tears. He'd ached for his friend there. He would have done anything to stop him from suffering.

That was why the betrayal hurt, why he could be angry—because he had _loved. _He had loved Varyar as friend and brother, and that friend, that one he'd called brother, that one had given him over to this.

And the grief of that still wanted to make him fade. This pain would not ease for many years, perhaps not even centuries.

"_He taints what they love first, and then he binds them, taking away even the hope of release in death by fading. He drags them down into his darkness, hurting them that their mind might be weakened with their bodies, that they might agree to serve him in desperation for release..."_

Legolas grimaced as he heard Varyar's voice, the younger, scared elfling that had sat next to him in the darkness and spoken of this great evil he feared. Legolas knew what Ogol was doing. He did not need Varyar's words to remind him or explain it. Ogol had taken what Varyar loved, twisted it, and he'd used this torture against him, quite possibly perfecting the method on Firyavaryar.

That was why this was happening, wasn't it? Ogol had broken the elfling, bent him to his will, and now Varyar was helping Ogol do that to Legolas.

No.

He still had true friends out there. Estel would come for him. Legolas would wait.

* * *

"Perhaps there are better ways than threats if you wish to learn where my ever wayward pupil has gone this time," Beridhren suggested, and Aragorn nodded in deference to the older elf. He had not had occasion to meet Legolas' tutor in the past, but he knew enough from stories he'd been told that Legolas and Beridhren had a strong bond between them, affection that persisted despite their differences in opinions and strategy.

"Indeed, I think that offers of true friendship would gather you more of the answers you seek," another elf said, and Aragorn would have teased him for his excellent imitation of their father were the situation different.

"Though I think that Elladan might have taken the opportunity to fire an arrow at you if not for the uneasiness of this whole company," Elrohir said, looking at his twin with a smile. "He thought your beard could use a trim."

Aragorn laughed. "It is good to see you, brothers. Yet... How came you to be here?"

"_Ada _told us of your dream and you setting off to be at Legolas' side, and we decided that if your dream was the portent you believed it to be, you _and _Legolas would have need of us," Elladan answered. He glanced around at the others. "We were right."

"We also could not stay away when we heard who you had set out after," Elrohir continued, turning to Sérëdhiel with a formal bow. "Greetings, my lady. How long these centuries have been without the sight of your face and the sound of your song."

Aragorn blinked. "You know them? Legolas never mentioned these friends of his, but now I find that my own brothers knew them as well and did not speak of it?"

"How can we speak of the one who so callously wounded our pride?"

Sérëdhiel snorted. "Next you will claim I broke your hearts, and you know that never happened, you great fools. If their pride was wounded, it was because I was too worried about Varyar to find their charm as appealing as other young _elleth _might, and because I never told them what he learned about telling them apart."

"It was still a great blow to our pride that you never once gave into our 'charm.'"

"It will be a great blow to something else soon," Nostalion warned, and Sérëdhiel laughed, the light sound easing much of the tension in their group.

"Peace, _melethron," _she said, letting her head rest against his chest. "These are ones I would also like to call friend, and their game of trying to impress me did so amuse Idhrenion that—"

Aragorn frowned as she broke off her tale, going around her husband to rush, heedless of her ankle—again—to her sister's side. None of them had seen the trembling overtake the other _elleth, _so distracted were they by the twins' arrival. "Alassë, look at me. Look, please. Calm yourself. It is well."

"Twins..." Alassë whispered, shuddering, and Sérëdhiel took her into her arms, trying to hold her. Idhrenion tried to rise to help, but he fell back with a cry of his own. The twins, knowledgable sons of the renowned healer that Lord Elrond was, stepped forward to help, but Nostalion blocked them.

"Do not approach her."

"We can help—"

"It might help more if she did not see you," Sérëdhiel said, rocking the other _elleth _in her arms. "It... Among her family, it was considered something... evil to have twins."

"Evil?" The twins asked, exchanging a frown. Aragorn had heard of some superstitions regarding twins before, some strange and idiotic things that he'd been unable to accept after living with his brothers and knowing them as he did, but he had not known them to be a part of any elven culture.

"Turvuin," Alassë moaned, and Sérëdhiel tried to use her song to calm her. Idhrenion fought his way up to take hold of his wife, though she was supporting him even as he did it.

"Turvuin?"

"Her brother," Nostalion answered, jaw tightening, and Aragorn knew that he would say no more of it, though he doubted that any of the others would understand without something more than that.

"Was he a twin? Her twin?"

"No," Sérëdhiel shook her head, her voice full of pain, and she did not look at anyone as she spoke, not even her husband. "He... he was given over into the hands of men when he refused the family's order to kill the twins his wife bore. In the end, they all perished."

"It is not like that in Imladris, Lórien, or Mirkwood," Aragorn said, trying to help the _elleth _who had more tolerance for him than the others. He did not know that he would calm her, and all of this might wake Eruaistaniel again, and if it did, they would have another fit to try and soothe. "These two are the sons of Lord Elrond, Alassë, and they are not evil, though evil has learned to fear them."

Alassë lifted her head. "You always talk of things you do not understand."

"Ignore him," Idhrenion urged, leaning his head against his wife's, his eyes almost closed.

"I'm _not _afraid of them," she said, shaking her head. "It... I... Sérëdhiel, what if—the trees did not say, and I do not know if they would know, but what if—No."

Sérëdhiel brushed back some of her sister's wild hair. "You do not know that you carry twins. You must calm yourself for your sake and the baby's."

"Baby?" Idhrenion asked, eyes widening as he grew paler and fell backward away from his wife, getting his sister to giggle until Alassë glared at her.

"I am sorry. We will have to let him believe he succumbed to his wounds again, and he will be glad that Varyar missed this, for he would torment him all his days over that reaction," Sérëdhiel said, and then her humor faded. "We must get shelter for them for the night."

"Someone will have to explain all this," Elladan said, frowning.

"And tell us where Legolas is."

* * *

Legolas needed to move. He did not know where he would go, but his body could not tolerate this hard rock anymore. He could only lay on one side, unable to rest the side of his head with the cut against the cold stone, and he needed to be on his back for the sake of his ribs, but hours lying prone in this position had made his body ache, and he almost wanted Ogol to come in so that he could see something in the darkness, so that he would move from this place.

He put his hands against the rock, pushing himself up so that he was sitting. His ribs flared with a new ache, and he wondered if less time was passing than he knew or if Ogol was keeping his elven healing from working.

Could his ribs have been broken without his knowledge? He had not felt the heaviness that had lingered after that first false sleep that Varyar gave them, but what Ogol did was different. Legolas figured Varyar's way of coaxing sleep was a blend of herbs that could lull by being breathed in, as the air had felt heavy, and songs, though perhaps he had gotten more out of Mithrandir's books than Legolas had ever known.

What Ogol had done was not as gentle, and it could have resulted in his ribs being broken as well.

Legolas tried to shift himself forward. He had wanted to examine the room, needed to find Ogol's way in and out of it if he was going to try and make his own plans for escape—he still hoped for rescue, but he knew that any true rescue depended on the person that was being rescued. He had to be ready to assist his rescuers—his friends—in any way that might be possible.

"Do not move."

Legolas almost jumped, so that warning was not helpful, and he glared into the darkness, about to summon some sort of insult for Ogol when he realized with a new, terrible ache that the voice was _not _Ogol's. "Varyar?"

"Do not move, Legolas. I do not know where you are, though I believe you are close enough to where you might stumble into me in the dark."

"Are you worried that I might fall on you and injure you? Or that if I _did _get close that I should give you the fate your treachery deserves?"

"You could try," Varyar said, his voice lifeless. "You would die first."

"If you are going to threaten me now—"

"Do you think that he would have put me in here as a comfort to you? No. As a way of torturing you, perhaps, but if you continue to move around, I will be your death."

Legolas shook his head. "You were always so—"

"He took my gloves. My tunic. My boots."

Annoyed, Legolas almost reached out to shove him when he remembered, and he pulled himself back, cursing Ogol and his twisted games. "Your skin is exposed."

"Most of it, yes. If you move, I will likely kill you."

Legolas lowered himself back to his uncomfortable position on the floor. He knew that he could not move, and he would not attempt to, not know that he was aware of the danger. He could endure the aches and awkwardness of his position for a while longer, until Ogol tired of this game.

"What is his plan?"

"I do not know," Firyavaryar answered, and Legolas snorted. "You do not have to believe me, but you have seen enough of Ogol by now to know that even if I am his 'pet,' he would not tell me. That is not a part of the way his games work."

"Did he use these same games on you?" Legolas asked. Firyavaryar was silent. "You are not going to ignore my questions. I have a right to answers. I deserve more from you than your silence. I may have been foolish to follow you, but you still _chose _to turn me over to him."

"I do not understand his interest in you. If he is to be believed about his purpose for me, then he somehow arranged for my parents to meet and bond and have children, children that were to become his... army. He said my mother had to die because she refused to give me to him when it was time to do so. He knew my father would fade, and he expected me to turn my brother and sister over to him to stop them from fading." Firyavaryar drew in a breath and let it out. "If he told you he can keep you from fading, if he put some kind of band on you... I think it was all a lie. I think I could have faded then, but I believed what he said about the band he put on my neck and I didn't... If I had, then all of us would have been spared that, but I was so young and stupid, and I believed him."

Legolas tried to push down what sympathy he might have felt for his friend's story. He did not want to believe that Varyar should have faded, though there was a part of him that insisted that he _was _to blame for all of it. "If you know he was lying then, why have you not faded now?"

"Because I can kill the orcs he sends to hurt me and because he does not have an endless number of them. I will die, I know that, but I will destroy as much of him as he has done me before I do."

Something stirred to Legolas' left, and he tensed. "Is Ogol listening?"

"I would expect him to. What would be the point of this game if he could not hear your anger and fury over all I have done? It is not as though he wants you dead. That could have happened in an instant if he wished it. I do not know what he wants with you. Perhaps he thinks he can use you against your father."

Legolas shook his head. "There is something else. There must be."

"You always look for more when the truth is something you refuse to accept, but this time there is nothing more."

"If there is not, then why did you pick me? You had others you could have betrayed. Why did you give him me and no one else?"

Whatever Firyavaryar's answer might have been, when it came after several long moments of silence, it was in the dark tongue of Mordor, meaning that it was no answer at all.

* * *

"Legolas has been... taken captive?"

Aragorn had settled on that truth, though he knew that while he might have fooled the Mirkwood elves, as soon as he was alone with his brothers, they would demand all of him, and he would give it, as long as he thought he could prevent them from harming the elf that he needed to get Legolas back. He would be glad to have his brothers with him for what was to come. He just needed them to hold back their anger better than he had and be willing to follow Nostalion wherever he might take them, even if it had no map.

"Yes," Aragorn agreed. "He was taken. We met with some being that dressed itself as a nazgûl might, though I do not know if that was what it truly was, and it used something against us that made us all sleep. When we woke, Legolas and Firyavaryar were gone."

Aware of Nostalion and the others watching him, Aragorn drew in a breath. "I intend to go after Legolas, but we had too many wounded for me to set out immediately. If you will promise to secure a safe place for Idhrenion, Alassë, Eruaistaniel, and Sérëdhiel, I think Nostalion can find the way back to where we were when they were taken."

Nostalion frowned. "Why are you volunteering me, _echil? _I have said nothing to you to indicate that I was willing to go with you."

"Do you not want Firyavaryar back?"

The other elf looked at his wife and then back at Aragorn. He did not answer. The man knew that he had the means to coerce Nostalion's cooperation. Thranduil would not like hearing of his son's fate, and he could well punish the whole family for that, as Sérëdhiel feared. By placing her and the others into the hands of the Mirkwood guard, Aragorn was using the family the same way that Ogol had. He tried to tell himself that it was for the good—and it did give them some small hope of recovering Firyavaryar, too, so that should be some consolation.

Aragorn looked at Ehtyarion. "You followed our trail before, and you can do so again. If you want to send more of Mirkwood's forces, I would be glad of them, but I fear we must move to help Legolas as soon as possible."

"How is it that you can track what our brother cannot?" Elrohir asked, turning to Nostalion, whose expression darkened. "I am curious about the role he has given you. He is a ranger. Often he wants that role of tracker for himself."

"Elves are better trackers. It seems he has learned that much," Nostalion said, and Aragorn forced a smile. He did not feel like explaining the extra ability that the other elf supposedly possessed, though Elrohir and Elladan would be more knowledgeable about the possibility of it than he was. They would know if Sérëdhiel's claim was false.

"Wait," Sérëdhiel said, grimacing when she tried to rise and sitting back down for once. "I—A part of me does not wish to know and a part of me thinks I would already know, but if this is to be done—are they even alive?"

Nostalion drew in a breath, his eyes closing, making most of the other elves frown—Sérëdhiel and Alassë had seen him do this before and were not bothered by it—and he let it out, opening his eyes. "The prince lives. He is in some pain, but it is... almost minor compared to what he could feel."

That was all Aragorn needed to hear, but then, did he dare believe this? He did not know. He watched the others, but none of them seemed to object to what he had done, perhaps assuming only that Nostalion was gifted enough to speak to another across great distances. "What about Firyavaryar?"

The tracker met Aragorn's gaze. "As long as Legolas lives, Varyar lives."

Sérëdhiel lowered her head, and Aragorn did not know if she was praying or if she even believed her husband's words—there was something he had concealed in the way he'd said that, but Aragorn did not know what it was.

"I am aware that the ranger has made me an object of scrutiny, but you would do well to stop staring," Nostalion warned, turning to glare at Ehtyarion. "I would gladly remove your eyes for you if they are such a problem that you cannot direct them elsewhere."

"I do not think your attempt at intimidation will work on this one," Elladan advised the head of the guard, and Elrohir nodded in agreement as he, too, watched the exchange between the other two elves. "You will not get him to tell you more or promise to bring Legolas home at any cost."

"Ehtyarion is not attempting to intimidate anyone," Beridhren disagreed. "He is trying to understand why this strange elf looks so much like his sister. Young she was when she left Greenwood, so young that we should have forgotten her in our long years, but she was a gifted tracker and a favorite of the trees. Folly led her from our land, and there is much to be learned from the tale of Vinyafaeniel."

Aragorn saw Nostalion try—and fail—not to react to the name. He knew that the elf had recognized it. He turned to Sérëdhiel. "You said his mother was a wood elf. You did not mention her name, but that is it, isn't it?"

Sérëdhiel shook her head. "You have already handed us to them. You have what you want. Why must you persist in this? Is it not enough that you have used us as leverage? "

"Leverage?" Elladan asked, frowning as he looked between them, and Aragorn grimaced. The story would not hold now, not if anyone pressed for more explanation, and they would, though he did not know that he could turn away from this observation that Beridhren had made.

"I will do whatever I must to get Legolas back. You already knew this."

Sérëdhiel winced. "Yet it helps no one if you do this. You gather hatred for yourself and—"

"You do not know that," Aragorn said. He looked to Ehtyarion and back at Nostalion. If Ehtyarion resembled his sister, it was slight, and it was difficult for him to say that they were related, but it might be possible. It might even make Ehtyarion more willing to accept what must be done. If Ehtyarion believed Nostalion was his nephew, that Sérëdhiel and the others were his family, they would be under his protection while in Mirkwood. "His mother's name was Vinyafaeniel, wasn't it? She was tricked into leaving with one of the Avari, and when she learned of her husband's deceit, she—"

"This is not the first time you have tempted me to kill you," the assassin said, again moving with speed that he should not have, pressing his dagger up against Aragorn's throat. The ranger could take a step back. That was weakness, but if he did not, his brothers might retaliate. "If you truly want me to help you, why do you persist in provoking me?"


	14. Parting Ways

**Storms in Middle Earth  
Chapter Fourteen  
Word Count:** 3,314**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really.**  
Author's Note:** So I had another one of those nights last night, debating both my behavior at work and the story, and I have been trying to decide all day if there was too much in the last chapter, if I'd twisted too much and connected too many things that shouldn't be connected. I don't know that I know enough about the twins to include them, though I could not talk myself out of that moment where they opened up more of Alassë's past. I had actually intended on a few other people being the ones that showed up in the last chapter, Elrond and Gandalf, but I thought it more realistic if it was Beridhren and Ehtyarion. The other elves were going to be nameless Mirkwood archers. Then the twins stepped in and chaos ensued.

The idea of Sérëdhiel, Idhrenion, and Firyavaryar spending time in Imladris led me to a couple of side scenes, one of which I posted as _No Peace in Imladris, _the other was an attempt at Elladan's thoughts as he interacted with Sérëdhiel in Imladris, which I was kind of amused by but didn't know if it was worth sharing.

Still, I admit to being tempted to rework the last chapter, and so I hesitate to post this, even though it does slow things down and attempt to sort out some of that chaos. It may be, though, that the only way of taming the chaos is to rewrite.

* * *

**Parting Ways**

_Separation was not simple. Even if he had _wanted _to be alone, he knew that it was harder to sever those ties than his tormenter believed. He had forgotten almost everything that he should have known, but even though all of that was gone, even though the memories had faded, he had something within him that did not allow him to die._

_He should have given up, should have died back when this torment began, but he had found some reason for hope, a reason he could not even remember, and though he had thought hope was dead, a part of him clung to life as though that hope had never left him._

_Why would those ties not break? Why could he not be free?_

* * *

"You know that if any harm comes to Estel that you will not live past the end of the day."

Aragorn looked toward his brother. A part of him would loved to fight Nostalion, to have this out between them—in the absence of Firyavaryar, Nostalion was the only one that Aragorn felt _could _be considered complicit with what Firyavaryar had done. He could be made to pay for his friend's treachery. He knew that Nostalion was not as guilty as the other elf, but he knew in his heart the burning desire for vengeance. He wanted someone to suffer because Legolas was suffering, but he also knew that he needed this elf to help him find Legolas first.

Vengeance would wait. "Elladan, we need him to help us recover Legolas."

"I do not know that I believe that," Elrohir said, and Elladan nodded in agreement. "We are all skilled in tracking, as are you. Why would you think this one so necessary? What is it that you have not told us?"

Nothing that Aragorn wanted to say now, in front of the elves from Mirkwood. He still had two purposes—to get Legolas back and to preserve the lives he had been traded for—and he could not allow word of Firyavaryar's betrayal to reach the ears of Thranduil, not yet. Aragorn would not allow anyone to harm Alassë, Idhrenion, Sérëdhiel, or Eruaistaniel.

"You have to understand that to Avari, trust comes slowly, if at all. Most believe us the servants of Melkor even if we were not the ones to make the choice our forebears did, and even if that choice was only to reject the offer of the Valar, our people are mistrusted and feared. Some say _we _are the reason the other races hate elves," Sérëdhiel said, limping her way in between Nostalion and the others. "Legolas was unique in how willing he was to accept us, as were you two and your father, but that is not the life that Alassë, Eruaistaniel, and Nostalion have known. They belong to a society that made those fears worse, one at conflict with its neighbors and sometimes with itself. My husband _will _help you get Legolas back, but I must beg you not to speak of his mother again. You do not know the pain you cause."

_And you do not care, _her look toward Aragorn said, but she did not voice the words. Nostalion touched her arm, about to shake his head and refuse, but she lowered his blade, turning her eyes up to his face.

"Please," Sérëdhiel said, placing her hand on her husband's chest, where his heart should be. "You are all we have now, _melethron, _and there may yet be some hope of rescuing Legolas and Varyar if you lead the others to them. It matters not who your mother was or what your father did. It has never been of any importance to me. You have my love. You will _always _have my love."

Nostalion kissed her, holding her against him as though he might crush her there, mold her to his very being. Aragorn did not think he was the only one discomfited by the display, as though he had intruded on something, even if it was being done with the full knowledge that everyone was around them and watching them.

Elladan looked at Elrohir. "Now more than our pride is indeed wounded."

Elrohir nodded. "So it is."

Aragorn heard Alassë snort, and Sérëdhiel smiled even as she shook her head. She spoke to Nostalion in a low voice, one soft but not soft enough, not to conceal her choice of language, one that made the other elves frown, some of them rubbing their heads.

Nostalion gave her a curt nod, kissing her forehead before stepping back from her. Sérëdhiel met Aragorn's gaze. "What? Did you truly believe that I would know nothing of a language that both my husband and brother are fluent in?"

Aragorn shook his head. He should not have been surprised by her knowledge or her ability with that same language, though now he had to wonder if Alassë understood it as well. She had not said anything, but then if Eruaistaniel was comforted by the words, why would Alassë not know some of that speech as well?

"She is more dangerous than I realized," Aragorn whispered, and he saw his brothers nodding in agreement with his words. They could have warned him if they knew, but then he thought it best that someone remain with the wounded who could not only care for them but protect them also.

Nostalion turned to him. "If you wish to go, mortal, we must leave now."

"You do not have force enough to stand against the orcs and this thing that stopped you before," Ehtyarion protested. "We must get reinforcements."

Elladan and Elrohir waited, watching Aragorn for his decision. He did not want to hesitate, for he knew that the longer Legolas lingered in the hands of the one they'd called Ogol, the less likely he was to be alive. Nostalion's willingness to leave the others behind before seeing them to shelter—that must mean that he had sensed something in Legolas to press for urgency—that or he had seen something worse in his own friend. He had not spoken of Firyavaryar's condition, after all.

"We go now. You will be able to follow us with reinforcements, but we must make haste and do what scouting we might—and we must be able to move as soon as possible. I am certain that Legolas is suffering, and I do not intend to leave him to it."

"None of us do," the twins agreed. "Let us go. Now."

* * *

"Varyar?"

Legolas had not heard from his friend in some time, though how much time was uncertain. He grimaced when he realized that he had called Firyavaryar a friend again, and he shook his head, wanting to curse himself for his stupidity—all the more so when the cut above his ear flared up with a new pain.

He lay still for a time, telling himself to let the pain pass before attempting anything further. He was not in a fit state to do much of anything, and he knew that, oh, how he knew that, but he did not want to let Ogol know that he was as weak as he knew himself to be. In his pride, Ogol might imagine Legolas weaker than he was. That could well be his undoing.

"Varyar? Are you still here?"

He thought that if his friend had been present, he would have spoken rather than risk Legolas moving and getting hurt, but he did not remember hearing anyone come in or out of the room. He did not know when Varyar could have been taken—or why he kept saying _friend _when he thought of the other elf—but that did not mean that he was not gone.

Had he even been in the same room at all? Legolas could not be certain of that, either. He did not know how long he had spent here, did not know where _here _was. He did not know if anything Ogol had said was true, and since he could not be certain that Firyavaryar was not working for that monster, he did not know that any of what _Varyar _had said was true.

He had wanted to believe the anguish that he heard in Firyavaryar's voice was genuine. He had wanted to believe that the other elf regretted his choice. That part of Legolas that would still treat Varyar as a friend had wanted to ease his torment over believing Ogol as a child, but even if he had been a child when he first knew this thing, he was not a child now. He had made the choice he did knowing the consequences. He knew the harm that he was doing, and he went forward with it anyway.

Family had always been the most important thing to Firyavaryar, and even though they had said they claimed Legolas as _gwador, _it would seem that did not carry as much meaning as it would have if he had their blood.

Friendship was not the same, though he had never thought that Varyar would be the one to prove that. Why did he not see it? All the insistence on being Avari, on always making that distinction between that and the wood elves—he had never accepted Legolas. The prince had thought he was a part of their small group, had considered himself friend and family, but Varyar had not.

Had Sérëdhiel been genuine? Idhrenion?

Legolas did not know that he dared question that. If he started to doubt them as well, then he would give into the grief. This was Varyar's doing, his alone, and Legolas refused to believe that Firyavaryar had spread his poison to his sister and brother.

Wait.

He did not dare trust Varyar, not again, but if Varyar was still poison, if he was able to kill the orcs, then what Legolas needed _was _Varyar. If he could use that poison that the other elf carried within him, then he could escape. Legolas was weak, he had no weapons, and he had not managed to fight off the orcs before, but Firyavaryar had a weapon—he _was _a weapon. Why had Legolas not thought of that before?

"Varyar? I am going to move now, so if you are close, tell me so that I do not hit you."

Legolas would have thought that Firyavaryar would have answered if he could have. Either he was not here or he was unconscious. If he was not conscious, then every move Legolas made was a possible step closer to him and his own death.

If Firyavaryar was telling the truth about being exposed, that was.

Legolas sighed. He did not know how he could attempt this kind of a plan without trust, but he could not allow himself to trust Firyavaryar again. Never again.

* * *

"You should not be walking on that ankle."

Sérëdhiel looked up at Ehtyarion, giving the older elf a nod. She knew he was correct, and she had been on it far more than she should have. She had known that she needed to heal herself, but she had so many to look after that her own ankle had to be forgotten. She would endure it for as long as she had to, though. She had known worse pain, and she could survive this. If she learned anything from her brother or her husband, it was that agony and anguish could be overcome. What she had suffered was nothing compared to the torture she knew they had both lived through, and she would do no less.

"I can manage, though, and my injuries are minor compared to those of Idhrenion and Eruaistaniel."

"The litter that was made for them is serving them well," Ehtyarion said, looking to Beridhren's mount. Their former tutor had insisted his horse was gentler than that of the guard captain, a claim that she had not doubted, so it was given the added burden of the litter. He had even welcomed Alassë up beside him, telling her stories of Idhrenion as an elfling that had her laughing and willing to share some stories of how their courtship had progressed.

"My husband made it, and he would not make something that would not care properly for those under his protection," Sérëdhiel said. Though Nostalion would not show any affection for any save her, perhaps for Varyar, she knew that he cared about his cousins and even Idhrenion. "It will make the journey. It was intended for a longer one."

"You need not be so defensive. Though I was never fond of your brother, I bore you no ill will. I thought you were well becoming a talented healer and a fine young _elleth." _

"Then it is my husband that you look upon with such disdain?"

"With wariness," Ehtyarion corrected. "I have seen the kind of movements he makes before. That is an art that I would not want any of those under my command to know. The techniques—no, the teachings that go with them—they are so far from the things that elves are supposed to be."

"Do you not think that he knows that? He cannot change what they tried to make him. He can only show that he never became it, not truly, not in the deepest part of his heart."

Ehtyarion stopped his horse. "Long have I known that Vinyafaeniel was dead, that she died believing she had been betrayed. I did not know much of her fate, for she had gone well beyond the borders of Greenwood, but I do not want to believe that was what became of her, that her son was raised in such a manner."

Sérëdhiel let out a breath. "It is possible that they are not the same _elleth _at all. Even we use names that others have used before. Legolas is also the name of an elf that died long ago, a Gondolin elf. Perhaps your Vinyafaeniel was not Nostalion's. I was told that she was a deceived wood elf, yes. She was led astray for her ability to track, for her connection to nature, but that does not mean that she was your sister. Are not the elves of Lórien the better trackers?"

Ehtyarion gave her a slight smile. "So they would claim."

"I admit that Nostalion has told me very little of his mother. She died when he was still young, and it was quite painful for him, but what little I do know of her, I would share with you—if you were willing to speak to me of your sister."

"My sister?"

Sérëdhiel did not know why her request surprised him. Why should she not be curious about the woman who might be Nostalion's mother? She would like to know more of what shaped her and her son. "Even if she is not the woman who I should have called _Nana _after I bound myself to Nostalion, I think you would do good to remember her as she was. As we are given to your charge until you leave again to bring your men to save Legolas, it is as good a way to pass our time as any might be."

"You remain wise."

"That did not abandon me the moment I bound myself to Nostalion, despite what Idhrenion might claim."

Ehtyarion laughed, looking over at her brother before he turned back to her, holding out a hand. "I am aware that I should have given you this horse from the moment that we set out, yet you did not complain. Will you now ride with me?"

She smiled, taking his hand. "Yes, Ehtyarion, I would be honored."

* * *

"I think that it is time that we had more answers," Elrohir said, and Aragorn cursed, even though he knew that this was coming. Now that they were away from the others, this brothers would not let their questions go unanswered. He would not be able to avoid them now.

"Yes, we would like the truth of what happened to Legolas. I do not know why Ehtyarion accepted that story—save perhaps that he was distracted by the resemblance that almost cost you your head, Estel—but I do not. There is more that you have not said."

Nostalion grunted, moving forward without them. Aragorn grimaced. He did not know that he dared let that elf out of his sight.

"We will talk while we walk. If what I have been told is correct, then there is no one else who can find Legolas. Perhaps someone could have seen him—_Ada _in his foresight or Galadriel with her gifts, but I do not know. I have been told that Nostalion's ability is like that of touching a mind only in a different way—it enables him to track someone across any kind of distance. Or so Sérëdhiel told me."

Elladan frowned. "You believe Sérëdhiel lied to you?"

Aragorn glanced at his brother, giving him an answering frown. "You do not think she is capable of lying? What little I have seen of her tells me that she is not the sort of person to be overlooked. Within her lies a quiet strength—and danger."

"I would agree with that," Elrohir said, looking at his twin. "She was strong when we knew her, resolved, and though she did not often join in the games her brothers played, when she did, she could be a catalyst of a most unusual sort. Either she would calm us all—or she would be the knife that cut us. She is intelligent, but with that comes danger as you say."

"Yet you failed to mention her?"

"They were with us less than a month, and they were all Legolas' friends, not ours," Elladan answered. "Firyavaryar was wounded not long before they came—_Ada _had gone in person to heal him at Thranduil's request, but he had returned home alone. They came later, but Firyavaryar's condition remained poor—I never understood why _Ada _let them go when he did. There was not much time to know them, and though the memory of elves is long, we did not think such a short interlude would come to have so much meaning."

"Do you think that _Ada _knew what would come? When I spoke to him after the dream I had, he said he did not, that he had not seen what I did, but I do not understand. If he knew of all of this, why did he say nothing? Now Legolas has been taken—been _betrayed—_and we may not be able to find him. He may be dead before we can reach him, and the only way of finding him lies with a former assassin who was experimented on by the shadow and turned into an unnatural tracker."

Elrohir put a hand on Aragorn's arm. "I believe _Ada _would tell you that there are more things at work than can be known, that there are some fates that cannot be changed, and that we must all play the part that we were meant to play."

"I do not believe that Legolas would be made to suffer needlessly," Elladan added. "I do not think that he would consider his actions meaningless. You did locate and free Firyavaryar's family. Legolas would have wanted that. He loved them all. He was very distressed when he learned that they had been in Imladris but were gone before he could reach them."

"Yet I do not know that we can discount what else you have said," Elrohir began. "Did you say, then, that Legolas was betrayed? How can that be? You were all together and all targeted by that unnatural sleep, were you not?"

"We were," Aragorn said. He let out a breath. "Before that happened, though, Firyavaryar had already told his _master _that he was there to give him Legolas."

"_What?"_ The twins demanded in unison.


	15. Unpleasant Company

**Storms in Middle Earth  
Chapter Fifteen  
Word Count:** 4,229**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really.**  
Author's Note:** I did try to write out the part with the orcs, but the action in it was terrible, so I cut it that part and did what I do best when it comes to action scenes: I wrote the aftermath instead. Well, the bookends, the before and after, and I am so much more comfortable with that.

I hadn't planned on having two scenes with Legolas, just one, but the flashback with Idhrenion didn't fit with the first one, so I separated it out to two, and wow, little Idhrenion was adorable. I almost wanted to go through a whole side story with him after that scene.

* * *

**Unpleasant Company**

_Alone, alone in the dark._

_That was what he knew, the only certainty. He was alone. He was in the dark._

_Sometimes he did not know that he was still alive. Sometimes he thought that was him wishing for death. Sometimes he thought he was underground, and sometimes he thought he was above it. He did not know what time of day it was. He did not know if he had always been in the same place, did not know how long he had been here._

_He just knew it was dark. And he was alone._

* * *

"I do not know that I believe it."

"I thought you didn't know Firyavaryar that well," Aragorn said, growing increasingly frustrated with his brothers. They were supposed to be moving, and he didn't know where Nostalion had gotten to while they stopped to discuss the betrayal, wanting all the details of what happened despite Aragorn's attempts to get them moving again.

"It is true. We do not," Elladan said, exchanging a glance with Elrohir, "but what we did know of him suggested that he was a fiercely loyal elf. He would often act with no regard for his own fate if he felt that his siblings were threatened. Legolas was _gwador _to him. I find this situation hard to understand."

"And yet it should be easy," Elrohir said. "For if the question was a matter of protecting his family, then that was what he would have done. As Sérëdhiel told Estel, he exchanged two lives for seven, and I do believe that if it were possible to give only one for them, Firyavaryar would have done so, but he was not enough, not to a being that already considered him his property."

"Yes," Elladan agreed, shaking his head. "Whatever price there is to be paid for this betrayal, it might already have been taken in blood—you will notice that your guide said little of the condition of his friend, which you knew to be poor before he and Legolas were taken."

"It is difficult to contain our own anger toward this betrayal, however, it must be done. We cannot allow ourselves to be distracted by the rage we would be swayed by, not when we have so much yet to do. We need to be alert—we know not where we go or what we will face when we arrive there," Elrohir said, and his eyes went forward, seeking out Nostalion. His hand went to his sword as he did, frowning. "We have lost our guide."

"I tried to get you moving again, but you would not listen."

Elladan reached for his bow. "I do not care for this. You do not believe that Nostalion would lead us into a trap now, do you?"

Aragorn grimaced. "I do not think so. He agreed to come for the sake of the others, and his wife's request was for the ears of Beridhren and Ehtyarion and any others—both of them knew that Sérëdhiel and the others remain _our _leverage now."

"True," Elrohir agreed. "Were Thranduil to learn that his son had been betrayed by their brother, not even old affection would aid him. They would go from halls of healing to the darkest dungeons, and I do not think that Idhrenion or Eruaistaniel would survive that."

"For her sake, if not for his, too, I would have _Ada _there." Elladan shook his head. "It is a pity. We did not have time to examine her _or _speak to her."

"Perhaps it is better that you did not," Nostalion said, making them all look behind them with a frown. "You would give her a fear of elves next."

Aragorn glanced at his brothers. "I know that I am only a man, and therefore it is not much that he sneaks past me sometimes, but you two are elves. How did he come to avoid _your _detection?"

"Training," Nostalion answered for the affronted twins, both of whom seemed offended by the accusation that they'd failed to have any knowledge of his presence. "If I could not avoid detection by an elf, I would have been a poor example of my former profession."

Aragorn grimaced. That was true. Now that he considered it, if Nostalion was his _family's _assassin, and if that family was as prone to turn against itself as Alassë suggested, that would mean that some of the ones he'd been sent after would have been elves—family.

With another silent curse, Aragorn had to wonder what he'd done to deserve this. He'd had to watch, helpless, as Legolas was betrayed by a friend, knowing that he could have prevented it—the damned elf had _asked _him to do it—but now he had to follow a guide he did not trust, one he knew to be capable of killing his own kin.

"I scouted ahead," Nostalion told them. "I do not know if these are orcs from Dol Guldur or if they belong to Ogol—as I have told Varyar, they all smell the same—but there are some in the woods ahead of us. I assume they are waiting for sundown to move against us, if that is their intention."

Aragorn nodded. He turned to his brothers. "What do you want to do?"

The twins grinned. "Let's hunt some orcs."

* * *

"Stay there."

Sérëdhiel snorted, shaking her head at Ehtyarion's order. He was foolish to think that she would obey him, even if she knew that they depended on his forbearance and even mercy, a mercy they would not have if the ranger's story did not hold and Thranduil or the others learned of Varyar's part in Legolas' current suffering.

"Since we have stopped, then I will examine my brother and cousin again. They should have treatment any time we stop, and I am the one that will give it to them," Sérëdhiel insisted, sliding off the horse. She did not want to walk on her ankle, but she was a healer, or at least the closest thing to one that they had with the sons of Lord Elrond gone with Nostalion and the ranger.

"You are very stubborn," Ehtyarion said, looking very much like he would like to curse her even as he took her arm to help her over to the litter.

"It is a trait that all the children of Calathiel and Erurainon possess," Sérëdhiel told him, smiling. She knew that Varyar was the worst of them, but she could not have lived with either of her brothers for so many centuries without some stubbornness of her own.

"Possess? It is the quality that keeps them alive," Alassë said, evading Beridhren's hold as she jumped down from the horse, rushing over to Sérëdhiel's side. "I do not believe that any of you would be here if you were not so cursed with that quality."

"Watch yourself—it was stubbornness that brought you and Idhrenion together, even if it took more than a century for it to happen," Sérëdhiel said, though she had to smile a little at the other _elleth's _words. A part of her would not have smiled. She knew the words that Alassë would not speak here, thoughts she herself had thought in the past—that Varyar would not have survived his encounters with the shadow if he were _not _stubborn—and she did not want to think of those times, of the grief and anguish that they felt every time their brother disappeared.

"We are going to have to carry the litter for this part of the woods," Beridhren said, addressing Ehtyarion. "These roots are too uneven for it to be pulled behind my mount—though we are all aware of that already. The ladies may continue to ride, but we must walk."

"I do not like this. It will delay us too much, and I fear for the state of the one they call Eruaistaniel."

Sérëdhiel grimaced, not wanting them to talk about Eruaistaniel as though she were not present. Even before she'd been taken, she had been quiet and meek, shy around those she was not close to, but after her ordeal at the hands of those men, she barely spoke at all. Still, even if she did not speak, she heard, and as Varyar had reminded them all very angrily—she heard more than they realized.

"Would you please go and gather some more of this _mallos?" _Sérëdhiel asked. "The ranger's supply dwindles, and as I have found it one of the best plants for curing pain of body and spirit, I would very much like more if you can find it."

"Yes, my lady. We will go at once."

Alassë watched with amusement as Beridhren pulled Ehtyarion along with him, but her merriment died a moment later. "They will not be so generous if they learn what Firyavaryar did."

"No," Sérëdhiel agreed. "They will not. We must see to it that they do _not _learn of it until after we are gone—or at least not until after we can move Idhrenion and Eruaistaniel on our own."

"They won't." Alassë took her husband's hand. "How is Idhrenion? He was the one that cried out, but he is not awake—"

"Calm yourself. I know you are worried, and I am as well, but I am not carrying a child. You cannot allow that stress to hurt your baby, no matter how difficult this situation may yet become. Yes, Idhrenion is in a poor state. He was too brave and too stubborn, and his health suffers because of it."

"I want him brave and stubborn. I want him to live."

"He will," Sérëdhiel told her, for she did not intend to let it be otherwise. Her brother would not die. She could do nothing for Varyar now—except, perhaps, hope that Nostalion would find him in time as well as Legolas. She had more hope of the twins and the ranger returning with Legolas than she did her brother, though.

Varyar would not want to live after what he had done to his friend.

* * *

The orcs had come again.

Legolas would almost think that Ogol _knew _what he'd started to plan. Their visit could have been a part of the routine around here, though he had trouble accepting that as the only reason for their presence, for the beating he'd received, when he had started to think of how to escape. That did not feel like a coincidence. He thought that Ogol somehow understood what he'd been starting to plan.

That was the reason for Legolas' new wounds. He felt certain that Ogol had acted because he knew that Legolas was thinking of escaping. He had done it because he would not let Legolas escape. Now he did not think he could run—he did not know that he could stand—and he would not be able to free himself even if he and Varyar used the poison against the orcs.

He would die here.

"_I do not understand. How can we be immortal if we can die?"_

"_We are blessed with long life, and we do not age as mortals do, but our wounds can still kill us," Beridhren said, rubbing his forehead. "Have I not explained this to you before, young prince? I feel certain that I have. I do not know why this is so difficult for you to understand."_

"_The word immortal means 'not subject to death.' If we are not subject to death, how is it that we die?"_

_Beridhren sighed. He touched Legolas' shoulder and turned him toward the guards that were watching over him while he had his lessons. "You know Ehtyarion."_

"_Yes."_

"_You know how he looks toward the trees, how pain comes into his eyes, and he seems to fade? There are things that hurt us that can go beyond the scratches you are always giving yourself in your haste for mischief. You heal quickly of those, but wounds to the spirit cannot be healed in the same way. Some grieve us far beyond what our body can bear."_

"_Is Ehtyarion fading?" Legolas knew a bit about fading—at least, he had heard of it, but it like death confused him. They were supposed to be immortal, and this did not make sense._

"_No, I do not think he will, though he will always grieve the loss of his sister."_

"_She died?"_

"_We do not know for certain, but Ehtyarion believes she did," Beridhren answered. He frowned, and Legolas did not know if he was remembering something or not. "Sometimes the pain is too great, the wounds too much. Sometimes even the immortal can die."_

_Legolas wrinkled his nose, frowning again. He did not know that he would ever understand how that worked. He did not know that it would ever make sense. He did not understand death—and why would anyone _want _to die?_

He groaned, thinking that he was still as foolish as he had been as a child. He had gained _some _understanding since then—he still struggled with the question of _why _they had to die, but after his mother was murdered he knew the kind of grief that made death seem preferable.

He knew it again now. He should not have given Firyavaryar such power over him, but the betrayal hurt more than these wounds, even though they were fresh. He should be thinking about the physical pain, should have been looking for the fatal wound _there, _not one that had been lodged in his heart.

Was he not stronger than this? He must be.

He had sworn that he would stay until he was rescued. Estel was coming. His friend would not stop until he had found him. He knew that only one thing would keep Estel away—death. He was the sort of friend that Legolas had _thought _Varyar was. He knew that he was going to end up hurting himself by depending so much on Estel, but the man had been named hope for a reason. He was not just the hope of man or of Middle Earth.

He was the hope of one desperate elf.

Legolas grimaced. He needed to try to move again. If he did not, then he would give in to that despair. He might be hurt, but he could move. He had to prove that he could. First, he would sit. Then he would stand. When he could stand, he would walk. He knew that was a risk—he still could see nothing in this darkness, and he could walk right off an edge or into a wall and hurt himself further—even _kill _himself. He tried to listen for the sounds that would indicate that there was a drop off nearby, but he had sensed nothing in the time that he had been here.

He thought he was in a plain room, one of odd shape made by some kind of natural cave formation, but he did not know for certain. He wanted to trust what he'd heard, but in this place, he trusted nothing.

Except Estel, though his friend was not here so that was different.

Legolas had to hold onto hope. He would make sure that he was ready to leave when Estel came, if he did not escape first. He might be grieving, but he was not dead. Not yet.

* * *

"Why is it that you always seem to find yourself overwhelmed by orcs?" Nostalion asked, glancing at the black blood on his blade with disgust. He knelt down and wiped it off on the dead orc's gear before putting it away. Aragorn watched him, trying not to show how difficult it was to breathe. He did not know if the fall and the kick that followed it had broken any ribs, cracked them, or just knocked the wind from him, but he did not want the elf to know. He refused to thank him for his assistance. Even if his sword had fallen from his hand, he would have been able to recover it. He could have killed the orc on his own.

"That is a good question," Elladan said, pushing back his hair and stowing his own blade. Both of the twins had rushed to Aragorn's side as soon as they could, yet neither of them had made it before the assassin. "I did not know that we would reach you in time to stop them."

Aragorn grunted. He started to push himself up, but his arm flared with pain, and he stopped. Someone could have used an arrow rather than running toward him. Then he might not have been kicked, though he didn't quite remember how he'd gotten the cut on his shoulder that was giving him so much trouble now.

"You are quite fortunate that our guide was closer than we were," Elrohir agreed. "I could not get orc to die fast enough. He was surprisingly agile for one of his sort. I did not have time to draw my bow, and it looked like it would be your end, Estel."

"Quit exaggerating," Aragorn mumbled. He bit back any outcry as he tried again, this time pushing himself up from the ground since none of the elves had bothered to offer him a hand in assistance. They were far too involved in their lectures. "I do not _always _get overwhelmed by orcs. It was your friend Firyavaryar that made that a close combat fight last time, and it was not like any of you had less than four orcs attacking you."

"True, brother, but we are the ones who are all covered in blood that is _not _ours. You are the one that has his own blood on him," Elladan said, ignoring the black blood that splattered his tunic to point to the gash that had torn Aragorn's sleeve and across his shoulder.

"Ah, and here is more," Elrohir said, circling behind him and poking him just above the cut on his side. "That one looks like it might become infected. We should treat it now."

"I am fine."

Nostalion looked him over and shook his head. "You are not, foolish mortal, and you will do your friend no good if you ignore your own injuries. Have you forgotten how many orcs surrounded us before? If it becomes necessary to fight them, you will be in no condition to do so."

Aragorn frowned. Just how much of that was coming from his abilities and how much was from what he'd seen and the twins so helpfully pointed out? How much could Nostalion tell with his ability, anyway? Aragorn wanted to understand it, wanted to know all of how it worked, but he did not think that he would get any more information from Nostalion, and Sérëdhiel was not here to ask.

"I gave my herbs to Sérëdhiel," Aragorn said, looking to his brothers. "I do not have any to use on myself. We should go."

Elladan laughed. "Estel, did you think that we, as the sons of Lord Elrond, as brothers who know you well, would leave without a supply of herbs?"

"We know you carry your own, but as we also know how prone to trouble you and Legolas are, and therefore we both have such herbs as _Ada _would recommend with us at all times. Now stop being a stubborn human and let us care for you," Elrohir said, removing a pouch from his belt.

Aragorn groaned. Nostalion glared at him. "You are like a child."

"Firyavaryar was no less reluctant to have my assistance when I offered to treat him."

"That is different," Nostalion told him. "Varyar carries a plague within him, and what he touches becomes poisoned. You would be dead now if he had let you treat him, and likely he would as well. Whatever it is that keeps him from succumbing to that poison makes what you would cure him with a toxin."

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged glances. "There is more you did not tell us."

"Firyavaryar's skin being poisoned wasn't a part of what happened to Legolas," Aragorn said, shaking his head and trying not to grimace as Elladan started examining his shoulder. "We had other things to discuss. I would have mentioned it eventually."

"Like you would have told them of your injuries were they not visible for them to see?"

Aragorn grimaced. He did not like that elf. However, he could use Nostalion as a distraction, at least. "How is Legolas?"

Nostalion drew in a breath, closing his eyes. The silence stretched on for a moment before he answered. "Alive."

* * *

"_I miss my mother."_

"_You know what I do when I miss _Nana _or _Ada?" _Idhrenion asked, and Legolas frowned, having thought the youngest elfling was asleep. He would not have said anything if he thought anyone was awake. Sérëdhiel and Varyar had fallen asleep a while ago, and when they did, he'd thought he'd heard Idhrenion snoring as loud as a dwarf._

"_No, I don't," Legolas said, smiling at him, for a sleepy young Idhrenion was surprisingly endearing, and he found himself wanting to take the younger elf in his lap and let him sit there like Varyar often did. "What do you do?"_

"_I crawl into Varyar's lap and hold onto him. Or I lean against Sérëdhiel and listen to her sing. When I'm close to them, I don't feel so alone. I don't feel as sad." Idhrenion looked up at Legolas. "You should go to your father and have him hold you. You won't be as alone."_

_Legolas sighed. "It is not so simple for me. Or my father. He is a king."_

_Idhrenion snorted, about as impressed by that as Varyar was. "I think you are scared."_

"_I am not." _

"_Since you are scared to ask your father, you will have to use friends instead," Idhrenion said. He pushed himself up, crawling into Legolas' lap. "Varyar is more comfortable, but you will do."_

"_Will I now?"_

"_I do not miss _Ada _or _Nana _as much. Do you still miss your mother?"_

_That ache was still there, but Legolas was glad that he was not alone._

Legolas shook his head. He was foolish, and remembering that night was bittersweet after what Varyar had done. His friend's betrayal took away even the comfort that Legolas had experienced from the other members of his family. It tore at Legolas' heart to think of the possibility that Sérëdhiel or Idhrenion or both of them might have been just as deceptive as Firyavaryar had been.

Still, Legolas found himself thinking of Idhrenion's childish innocence, of how good it would feel not to be alone. Even if it was Varyar that he was locked up with, Legolas would be grateful. He did not want Ogol to return, but he did not know how much more of this darkness he could take before his mind did start to break. Had it even been a day yet? He felt so weak, so close to giving in, and he could not let himself do that.

He'd told himself that he wouldn't, not when he had the hope of rescue, of Estel's loyalty, to believe in, but he had tried to stand and fallen, leaving himself gasping for air and feeling as though he had no strength at all. He would not escape. He did not think he would be rescued in time, and yet his wounds were not that that dire.

Not the physical ones, at least.

"How are we feeling now, little prince?"

Legolas groaned. How had Ogol come in without any light or noise? "Where is the door?"

"You wish to leave? Very well. Let us play our game again."

"Our game?" Legolas heard himself ask and winced. He knew the game that Ogol meant, and he did not want to play it, did not want to face the consequence of _not _playing it. He did not want to do this again, and he would not lose his ear.

Ogol grabbed him, dragging him up to where he could stand, but as his legs could not hold his weight, he could only hang from where the creature held him. "Tell me what you hear."

"Orcs." Legolas did not know why Ogol was asking. Almost every other time he'd asked last time, it was orcs, and one of those exceptions had sounded very much like the death throes for that other prisoner, the one Ogol claimed had tortured Varyar.

Legolas almost thought that if there _was _someone else who'd had a part in making Firyavaryar what he was, it was Ogol pretending to be that person, _not _someone else, though he knew he had seen some twisted being in that other room, one he know believed was dead.

"Again."

"Orcs. Why are you doing this? The one who defied you is dead and—" Legolas stopped when he felt the blade by his ear.

"Listen."

Legolas did. He did not want to, but he could not stop himself from hearing, and the threat to his ear made him more cooperative than it should. "Orcs. Again. Stop this."

"One more time."

"And what? Then I can be left alone in the dark again?"

Ogol laughed, and Legolas tried not to shudder, though he hated being in this thing's presence. If he had a way, if he was not so weak, he would kill this thing. He would free himself. "Once more."

Legolas sighed. He started to say orcs, but he could not do it. His stomach turned and his chest tightened, his heart aching with the knowledge he now possessed.

"Varyar."


	16. Hard Questions

**Storms in Middle Earth  
Chapter Sixteen  
Word Count:** 3,625**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really.**  
Author's Note:** I didn't include the snippet from the elf at the beginning of this chapter because I felt the flashback worked better there at the beginning than it did anywhere else in the chapter.

If, for any reason, people need something light and fluffy after this chapter, I did do something kind of too sweet with _Of Boys and Books. _I blame Idhrenion. After that flashback in the last chapter, it was almost inevitable.

Oh, wow. I can finally manage my stories and finally post this chapter. It's only almost a day late. *sigh* I suppose I did get to do a side project in the meanwhile, but I had this ready this morning and wanted to share it, not _Dawn is a Feeling. _I actually wrote a bit with Gimli the delay made me that kind of crazy.

* * *

**Hard Questions**

"_Varyar?"_

"_What?"_

"_What do you remember about your mother?" Legolas asked, looking up at the stars. He knew that he would cause his friend pain by asking, but he felt like he might burst if he kept himself from asking for another moment. He had been so curious for so long, and he did not know how to stop himself._

"_Do you want to know if I remember her the way you remember your mother?" Firyavaryar rolled over, propping his head on his hand. "I do, and I don't. When I am alone, I see her most often as she was then, when she died. When I am with Sérëdhiel or Idhrenion, I remember her as she was in that moment they have called to me—laughing, smiling, teasing, singing... I cannot picture her without seeing my father there. They separated so rarely..."_

"_They must have had a strong bond." Legolas grimaced. "I know my parents did. They had to have had one—why else would my mother marry my father?"_

"_Ambition?"_

_Legolas reached over and shoved him. He knew that Varyar was only teasing. Sometimes he had heard rumors about other _elleth _that wanted to marry his father, and they were said to only want to be queen. He did not think that was why his mother had done it. She always looked at his father with such love, almost but not quite the way she had always looked at Legolas. "Love."_

_Firyavaryar nodded. "I think that can be seen in her portrait."_

"_I cannot see it. All I can see in that is the way she looked when she died."_

"_That is your guilt." Varyar laughed. "And your fear, if you believe Idhrenion. He thinks you're too scared to be with your father, and so you do not spend enough time remembering her as she was. He is the one that would help you do that. Instead, you spend all your time with me."_

"_You are my friend."_

"_You are a coward."_

_Legolas frowned. "I am not a—how dare you say—"_

"_Or perhaps it is just that you want to keep punishing yourself. You are full of guilt that you think you need to continue in pain, and that is why you spend time with me. You still remember her death with me."_

"_That is insane." Legolas sat up. "Do you spend time with me because you use me to punish yourself for your mother?"_

"_Nothing can atone for what part I had in her death," Firyavaryar whispered, anguish in his voice. "There are some choices that cannot be altered, that no amends can be made for, and I will carry that with me forever. I will know no peace from it, but your part was not the same as mine."_

_Legolas rubbed his head, confused. "They killed my mother because she tried to protect me. Is that not what happened to yours?"_

"_It... almost is." Firyavaryar turned away. "There was this trader in the village... I knew something was wrong with him, and the way he spoke to me and seemed to watch me even though I could not quite see his face under the hood of his cloak... He spooked me, and I made _Nana _leave, but we ran into the orcs then. _I _ran into the orcs. They caught me because I was so worried about getting away from him I did not think of the danger in front of me, and I did not manage to warn her. She came up to find me, and when she fought them..."_

_Legolas winced. He did not need details—he could remember his own mother's fight with the orcs to know what had happened. "I am sorry, Varyar, but I do not think you should blame yourself. You were doing what you thought was right in getting away from one threat. You did not know there was another."_

"_The trader..."_

_Legolas waited, but Varyar said no more. He did not know what had passed between his friend and that trader in the village, but it must have been horrible. Firyavaryar did not get silent like that unless it was something too terrible to speak of, and for the trader to scare him more than the orcs..._

"_You know that whatever that trader was, whatever he did, he will not ever hurt you again," Legolas said, putting his hand on Varyar's back. The other elfling looked at him, and he smiled. "I mean that. You are here in Greenwood, in the court of King Thranduil—and you know many people are terrified of my father—and you are safe."_

"_Legolas—"_

"_How many times do I have to say it? You are my friend. Friends protect each other. I will protect you, and you will protect me. Together, we will never be defenseless. We can fight anything as long as we fight it together."_

"_Do not say that. I know you all like to think of me as Varyar the protector, but I am not. I am—I cannot do this. I should leave. I will not pull you into the same darkness that I am a part of," Varyar said, pulling away from him. "Legolas, you are a good friend. I am not."_

"_You have become my closest and dearest friend. How can you doubt yourself so much?"_

"_It is because I know myself that I doubt," Firyavaryar answered. "Someday you will regret being my friend."_

"_No. I would never do that."_

* * *

"Can it be," Ogol asked, his voice next to Legolas' throbbing ear, "that you still care what becomes of my darling little pet?"

Legolas forced himself to swallow. He did not know if it was the way Ogol was holding him or if was the cut by his ear, but he was nauseous, and he thought he might vomit before he could speak. That he would not do.

"I see you have returned to your stubborn silence," Ogol said, and Legolas heard the anger in his voice, but he did not know that he could bring himself to care. If Ogol did not intend to kill him now, then all that would happen was more pain, and at this point, having it reach the level that would render him unconscious would be a relief. "You will reconsider that."

"Why?" His voice felt weak, and he did not think that he should have been heard, but he had been.

"Because you care," Ogol said, throwing Legolas backward. He hit the stone floor of his prison, unable to breathe when he did. If his ribs were not cracked before, he believed that they must be now. He thought this could be the end, and yet _why? _Ogol did not seem to want him dead—Varyar was right about that—if Legolas was meant to die, why had Ogol not already killed him?

This was not about his death, not yet. Legolas was supposed to break first. Maybe he was supposed to _ask _for that relief, to _beg _for it. He had not. He would not.

Legolas lay still, taking in as much air as this place and his ribs would allow him. He was relieved to be free of Ogol's hold again, but he did not need more injuries.

He heard Ogol laughing and turned away, not needing to listen any longer. He knew that Ogol was doing this to see his reaction. Legolas would not give him the one he thought he wanted.

The truth was, Legolas did not know _what _he felt.

He had mourned the loss of his friend once, and in the dark of his prison, he had started to do so again, but his feelings about how Firyavaryar had betrayed him were different than the feelings that swirled in him now, locked away once again. Even though he had been silent, by the way that Ogol had laughed when he left him, he still thought that Legolas had given the being a triumph.

He should not care what Ogol did to Varyar. Firyavaryar had betrayed him. If he died, then it should mean nothing to Legolas. He should not be concerned with anything the other elf might suffer—that would only be just punishment for what he had done. Varyar was a traitor. He might try to justify what he'd done by saying it was the only way to save his family's lives, but even if it was, that did not excuse it. He had given Legolas to a monster, and the only reason they could figure on this thing wanting him was that he was to be used against his father.

If that was true, then Varyar could well have condemned _all _of his father's kingdom with this one act, and how was Legolas to forgive that? This could not be excused.

He did not care what Ogol did to Varyar.

"You can do anything you want to him, do you hear me?" Legolas could not tell if Ogol was still in the room—he had never been able to know when that thing was or was not present, and he would have blamed his injuries if they were severe enough but they were not. This was somehow Ogol's doing, a part of his torture to come and go without anyone seeing or hearing or even smelling him. Legolas did not know what it was that made that possible, and he did not know that it mattered.

He would not escape Ogol on his own. He could not walk right now, could not fight. He did not know where he was—he had come up with a few theories, but the theory could not save him. Even if he was right about this being some kind of underground cavern network, something someone else had dug and abandoned that Ogol had decided to use in the way he used everything—as something hidden in the shadows. He hid what he was—disguising himself as a nazgûl to fool others into thinking that he had more power than he did, to keep everyone from knowing who—what—he truly was. He had taken someone else's home and remade it for himself, but Legolas would not be surprised if everyone outside of this place thought it belonged to someone else.

Were they in the shadow of Dol Guldur? Had Ogol decided to hide himself underneath _that _evil so that his own would never be known?

"I do not care what you do to Firyavaryar. You are not hurting me by hurting him. He betrayed me, and I do not care if you hurt him!" Legolas called, knowing that Ogol must be listening—or he had someone here to listen for him. He did not know, but he did not want to be a part of anyone else's torture. He did not care when Ogol hurt the orcs, and while he had not known if Ogol lied or not about the prisoner being someone who had tortured Varyar, Legolas knew that whoever he was, he was now free. In death, he had a release that Legolas and Firyavaryar did not.

Unless Ogol would kill Varyar.

Firyavaryar could already be dead.

* * *

"Quit poking me."

Aragorn did not know when he had become the source of all elven entertainment, but he would swear it had something to do with Legolas' need to go after Firyavaryar. Aragorn had joked about being the source of Alassë's amusement, but now he had fallen into that role for his brothers, as he often did.

Worse, he thought that he was that for Nostalion, too.

"I would not have to poke you if you were less stubborn," Elladan said, shaking his head as he prodded the wound again. Every time they slowed—they did not even have to stop, not that they stopped, not often, not with the way Nostalion marched them—Aragorn's brothers were examining his wounds. "Truly, Estel, did you think that you could ignore these wounds forever? It is little wonder that you were isolated and overwhelmed by orcs."

"What?" Aragorn pulled away from his brother. "I did not—these injuries are not that old. You are speaking as though I left Imladris bleeding and bruised, but I came here intact. I did not get injured in the last fight. As far as I know, no one was hurt that fight. Though—I do not know that anyone would tell me. Legolas does not admit to pain, and I think that is a trait that all elves seem to have."

"It could have been a lack of trust that kept some of them of speaking of their wounds," Elrohir said, glancing toward Nostalion. "I do not think that some would admit to any sort of weakness in front of us for any reason. That would be like handing one of us his dagger."

"Yet you did know of Firyavaryar's condition."

Aragorn grimaced. "It was not possible for him to hide it. He would lie on the floor shuddering through a storm, and his blood had soaked through his tunic."

"As has yours. Again," Elladan said. "We will need to stop to properly treat these. We need bandages. An infection is ready to set in."

"It is not. You are exaggerating," Aragorn said, trying to get a look at his wound. He didn't feel sick, so this must have been another trick that his brothers had decided to play on him. They'd say he was the reason that they needed to stop for the night since that was a weakness that elves did not have, either. They did not need the same amount of rest—and he was the injured one—he was the reason they had to stop.

"It is," Elrohir said, though if this was a prank, Elrohir would side with his twin about it. "You are fortunate that neither blade was poisoned. We would have had to turn back if they were—you could not hope to fight orcs in that condition."

Almost desperate, Aragorn turned over to Nostalion. "How is Legolas? Is there any change in him? Do you still know where he is—where we should be going, at least?"

"Do you doubt that I would be truthful about where I was leading you?" Nostalion's look turned dark. "You have sent my wife, her brother, and my cousins to the hands of the king whose son her other brother betrayed. I am with you because I could not do otherwise with them in his realm, and as long as they are there, I am doing what you want."

"I think this one is looking to have himself injured again," Elladan said, folding his arms over his chest and looking at Aragorn with disapproval.

"Yes, he is, and why he would do so with an elf that has already managed to put him at the end of his blade but to whom he also owes his life I cannot say." Elrohir did the same as his twin, and Aragorn sighed. That had not been his intention at all.

He didn't want Nostalion angry with him. He had only asked about Legolas so that his brothers would stop annoying him. "I know why you are with us, Nostalion, and I do not believe that you were lying to us about where you are taking us. It's just—I do not understand all that you do or how you do it—but I am not—I wanted to know that Legolas is still alive for us to save."

Nostalion looked at him. "If your friend was not alive to go after, I would not be leading you. I would have left you and returned to those that are mine before you could stop me or find me."

Aragorn nodded. He didn't doubt that at all.

* * *

_Legolas walked into the room, unable to believe what he saw. He had been in here only hours ago, had come as soon as he learned Firyavaryar was awake, and he had stayed until Lord Elrond forced him to leave, so he could not have been gone that long. This was not possible. He did not understand what he was seeing. Varyar's bed could not be empty._

_He could not be gone._

_He walked toward the bed, reaching for the parchment that sat on the sheets, one with his name on it in a hand that Legolas knew as well as he did his own. He opened it, staring in disbelief at the few words on the page._

I had to leave.

_That was all. No explanation. No apology. Perhaps Varyar thought he had given them already in all their many arguments, but Legolas did not. He needed more. He needed his friend._

_Outside, lightning flashed as a storm broke and rain started to fall, and Legolas felt as though the land was doing his weeping for him. He could not do it himself._

Legolas tried to lift his head. The silence had started to bother him again. He was alone with too many memories, and he did not want to be. Ogol's actions had twisted everything again. Legolas had thought he knew how he felt about Firyavaryar. He had it all settled, but then he had been forced to listen to his friend scream with Ogol's poisonous voice in his ear. Now he did not know what he thought, and he could not be certain that he had made the right choice in trying to tell Ogol that it did not matter what he did to Firyavaryar.

Perhaps it would mean that he would not torture Varyar because Legolas had claimed not to care what happened to him. Or, perhaps, it meant that Ogol would hurt him more, would even kill him, because he thought that Firyavaryar meant nothing to him.

Firyavaryar had betrayed him, yes, but Legolas did not want him dead. At least, he did not think he wanted him dead. He did not want him tortured. Or did he?

"Have you had enough time to think, young prince?"

Legolas frowned, not wanting to be with Ogol again now. He had been trying to think—sorting out his thoughts and feelings about Firyavaryar was the best use of his time wince he could not move and did not want to give into despair by thinking about the impossibility of escape.

"We shall go for a short trip," Ogol said, and Legolas heard the orcs shuffling toward him. He tried to resist them as they dragged him up, but he could not. He was already too weak. "Come along."

"Why are you doing this?" Legolas asked, stumbling forward with the rough treatment of the orcs. They laughed, and he wished that he had his knives. What would Ogol have done with them? Were they locked away? Had they been left behind? Would Varyar know?

"To prepare you."

Legolas almost regretted asking, but if Ogol was in the mood to talk instead of play one of his games, then he thought he would prefer that. He could use more information, even if he was in no state to try and escape. The orcs holding him were the only reason he was standing. "Prepare me?"

"I think you are almost ready," Ogol said, his gloved finger moving along the cut that he'd made above Legolas' ear.

The elf tensed, pain flaring through his head, That cut must have been infected, and he could not see through the renewed throbbing, not that there was much to see. He sometimes discerned the outline of Ogol's hood, but other than that, he had only darkness.

"Almost ready for what?"

"To take this one's place," Ogol said, shoving Legolas forward. He hit something hard and though he had thought they were underground in some kind of cavern network, he thought the crack and scrape of it was wood before it fell open and he was blinded by light for the first time in what he hoped was days. Legolas blinked, trying to adjust to the brightness—it was only a low torch, but after so long in the dark it felt like sunlight.

He tried to sit up and stopped. "Varyar."

The other elf looked at him, and Legolas had not seen Firyavaryar's eyes so vacant before, as though he did not even recognize him, though with the blood and markings that covered him, Legolas would not have thought he would know his own name, not after that much pain. He did not understand—Firyavaryar's skin was poison, so how could they have gotten close enough to cut and bite him like that? He did not see a part of Varyar that was not darkened with bruises or blood.

Ogol walked over to Firyavaryar, lifting his head. "It is unfortunate, is it not? How long you have been mine, and yet now... you can never be what you were supposed to be."

Varyar did not glare back. Those damaged eyes of his were unfocused. "Never was. If you are going to kill me, go ahead. Perhaps the prince of Greenwood will cheer."

Legolas choked. He would not cheer. He did not want this.

Ogol laughed. "Oh, you are still so naïve, my pet. You are not what you were once—such a beautiful child, would have been terrible in war—but your affliction makes that impossible. A shame but as you have been killing the troops you were meant to lead, I think there is no alternative."

Legolas shook his head. No. This was not happening. He would not watch this. "No."

"Amusing. Would you save him?" Ogol asked, turning back to look at Legolas. "Tell me, Prince. Is he still worth saving? After all he has done to you?"


	17. Unpleasant Surprises

**Storms in Middle Earth  
Chapter Seventeen  
Word Count:** 3,994**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really.**  
Author's Note:** Having problems with being able to post yesterday threw off my whole schedule. So, while normally I post early in the morning/late at night for me, I'm going to go ahead and post this now and try and get things back on track a bit, if such a thing is even possible.

And it occurs to me now that I will probably have to do something about the elf's snippets. They are going to be an issue later, I'm sure. Hmm...

* * *

**Unpleasant Surprises  
**

_He heard voices this time. He had thought that he was imagining them at first, that he had finally succumbed to the madness was all around him in the darkness. He did not know if this was a dream or a nightmare, but he could not be hearing voices._

_He was alone. Even his tormenter had not come around in so long that he did not know if he had been forgotten down here, left to die. So if he was to die, he was not surprised to learn that he was hearing things that did not exist._

_There were no voices. He was alone. He would die alone._

* * *

"I believe someone has been sent to meet us."

Sérëdhiel nodded, though her fatigue could not overcome her wariness as Ehtyarion stopped them to meet the patrol. She knew this one would contain no friend, no ally, and she did not know how willing anyone else would be to believe the ranger's edited tale of their release. Ehtyarion was distracted by Nostalion's resemblance to his lost sister, and Beridhren was still trying to accept that the boy he'd loved so as a pupil was now a grown elf with a child of his own, and Lord Elrond's sons trusted the human enough to accept his version of events without question—at least not in front of the elves from Greenwood. She would not have expected the twins to hold to such silence after they had parted company.

Now, though, she faced others, others who would not possess such understanding. If either Tirweg or Nengalen were to be a part of this group approaching, they would not accept any tale—they would want only what they had never accomplished while Sérëdhiel and her brothers lived in Greenwood—to imprison all of them for being deceitful Avari.

"Identify yourselves."

"I am Ehtyarion, captain of Prince Legolas' guard. With me is Beridhren, his former tutor, plus several wounded," the guard answered. "You know me, Nengalen. Lower your weapon."

Sérëdhiel's stomach twisted. She thought Tirweg was perhaps worse in his persecution of her brother, but she did not know that she could consider herself fortunate that only he was present. To have Idhrenion in such a weakened state with that elf around—no. She slipped from the horse and went to her brother even as Ehtyarion called for her to stop. She would not leave either of them unprotected. She was not the fighter Nostalion was, not the protector that Varyar was, but she would defend them if she had to, and she was afraid that would be necessary.

"Sérëdhiel? You have that witch among you?"

"Witch? As though healing were a crime and not a cultured art among you elves," Alassë said, shaking her head. "Why did we agree to let them take us here?"

"We had no choice," Sérëdhiel whispered, trying not to betray how her ankle throbbed. She could not fight unless Nengalen came to her, but by then, it could be too late. If he went for Alassë, Sérëdhiel could do nothing.

"This is absurd," Beridhren said, shaking his head. "I know you were always a poor student and jealous of the prince's friends, Nengalen, but you cannot deny these wounded the shelter of the king's halls. You have not the authority to do that, nor did I believe that you were so lacking in compassion."

"The finest day in this land was the day that those three left. I do not wish for their return."

"I remember that day as bleak and full of rain, as though the forest and sky knew how much pain the prince was in and wept with him," Ehtyarion said, going to confront Nengalen. "Whatever you felt about his friends—whatever _I _felt about them—you are not in a position to defy what he would have wanted, and that is to see that no harm comes to any of those here. You will let us pass. We have done as much as we can for them, but the journey was still difficult, and they may yet die. If that happens, I am certain that you will face not only the wrath of the prince but also his father the king when he learns of what you have done in delaying us."

"What _I _have done? If they are so poor that this 'delay' kills them, then there was no hope—"

Alassë threw herself at the guard, knocking him to the ground, putting Varyar's dagger to his throat. "Do not you _dare _say that there is no hope. That is the father of my child you speak of and my cousin, and you will not stop us from doing everything that we must to save them."

"I think you may have wounded his pride more than you can ever know, my dear," Beridhren said, touching her shoulder, and Alassë blinked in confusion, uncertain how to take the elder's actions, though Sérëdhiel thought he was rather fond of her as he had always been Idhrenion.

"That is, I should hope, sufficient punishment for now," another voice said. "Let us get the wounded into the palace."

Sérëdhiel was not the only one staring in disbelief as Ehtyarion nodded. "Yes, my lord."

* * *

"The answer is no."

"I did not ask you, pet. I asked the prince."

"That does not change the answer, Ogol. It is still no. I find myself surprised that you do not want an army of abominations just like me, but then I have never thought that you were sane," Varyar said, and Legolas thought that Ogol might snap his jaw. He might not be able to see that thing's face, might not be able to hear anything from him, but the tension in the robe showed his anger.

"Quit talking. I told you—I do not want your answer. I want _his."_

Legolas swallowed. He did not know why it was so difficult to speak. He did not want Ogol to kill Firyavaryar. He knew that. He had to tell Ogol. He had to say it. Varyar's life was now in his hands, and he could not allow Ogol to kill him. He might have been betrayed—that did not mean that he would become the betrayer.

"Though I should say that before you answer, perhaps you should know _all _of what my pet has done for me," Ogol said, and Varyar's eyes managed to focus on him with hatred. Ogol turned around, needing to watch Legolas as he spoke. "Did you know that you were not the first friend he betrayed?"

Legolas stiffened. He did not want to hear this. He knew that Ogol might say anything now, that he would want Legolas to condemn Firyavaryar, to hate him more than he might already, that he wanted that order from the prince to say his friend should die. Then perhaps he would reveal the lie to torment him—or he might never say it was a lie. Poisoning his mind against Varyar was the first part of Ogol's torture, and keeping that poison lingering would help turn him into what Ogol wanted him to be.

"Silence? Does that mean that you do not believe me?" Ogol laughed. "How loyal you are, even to someone who has never deserved it. Understand this—he has always been mine. I chose his parents, and they knew our arrangement. She was a fool to think she could keep him from me, but how that helped him gain your trust. You thought that he understood the loss you felt. You are wrong. There was never any kindness or goodness in this one. He has done the same to others, tricked them and betrayed them. Ask him how many lie dead at his hand."

Firyavaryar yanked his chin out of Ogol's hold. "You do not have to invent sins for him to condemn me with—that is already done. Carry out the sentence—or are you still too much of a coward to manage it?"

"You would accuse me of cowardice, you who ran and hid for centuries?" Ogol grabbed him again, closing his hand around Varyar's neck. "You have ceased to amuse me, and I have no use for you. If the prince is too much of a coward to ask for your death—well, I might have helped him decide, but you chose to interfere."

Legolas shook his head. Ogol would not make that decision for him. "I would no more trust a word from your mouth than I would that from Melkor, Ogol. Your words mean nothing to me. You will do what you will. I cannot change that. Varyar cannot change that."

"You think so little of yourself?"

"I think you are only interested in your games, and that the only way to react to them is not to play them," Legolas said. This time he almost smiled. He felt a small sense of triumph now. "That is what infuriates you. You are angry because neither of us will cooperate with your game this time—you wanted Varyar to plead with me or you for mercy, and you wanted me to condemn him in anger. You did not get what you wanted, and you will not."

"Oh, pet. What a stubborn, idiotic prize you selected. I do wish you had better sense," Ogol said, shaking his head. "Do you remember that _elleth_ you brought me when you were just shy of a century old? Now that one was a true prize. She was worth your petty acts of defiance."

Firyavaryar spat out a curse. "I did not bring her to you. I did not even _know _her. You—"

Ogol moved his hand under Varyar's chin. "Oh, come now, pet. You know that she was not for you. I told you when it was time for it I would select your mate as I had your father's, but you tried to choose for yourself, and that I could not allow. She was so beautiful when she screamed."

Varyar twisted in Ogol's grip, biting his hand. Ogol snarled, smacking him with the other hand, knocking Firyavaryar into the wall. Legolas watched as Ogol stalked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Legolas was almost relieved—he was not in the dark this time.

He would say he was not alone, but Firyavaryar was not moving.

* * *

Aragorn ignored the ache in his back, telling himself that it was nothing. Even were it not, he knew that he could not allow his brothers to know of it and stop him. He would not turn back now. They must be getting closer to Legolas, and even if they were not, the shadows on Nostalion's face whenever he drew on his ability and changed their path made him certain that wherever Legolas was, they did not have long before they _had _to reach him.

His friend was going to die if they did not hurry. A small twinge in his back was nothing compared to that. When he found Firyavaryar, he would make certain that the elf paid for what he had done, but Aragorn had to get to Legolas first.

"Perhaps we should have rested."

Aragorn glanced over at Elladan. "Legolas gets no rest. Why should we?"

"If we do not rest, we will be in no condition to fight when the time comes for it," Elrohir reminded him, sounding much like _Ada _did at that moment. "We must be ready to face what will happen when we are in place to attempt our rescue. Until then we must be vigilant. We cannot allow ourselves to become too fatigued—that, too, is a distraction that might be used against us."

"Perhaps," Elladan said, dropping his voice low as he spoke close to Aragorn's ear, "you will allow us to let our concerns over the 'weak' human of this party to convince our guide to rest, for I fear that he will not do so without such a subterfuge. You worry for Legolas, but he carries the weight of all on him, and I do not think him for a moment ignorant of what will happen if we do not manage to get Legolas back."

"We have leveraged his family—his wife and bond—and we cannot think that he does not believe they will not be harmed if we fail. He would be no more willing to stop than you are, perhaps less."

Aragorn sighed. That was not something he had considered when he started out, nor did he like himself much for it. He and the tracker would never be friends, but he had acted with little or no concern for him at all, and that was something that he should not have done. He was not heartless, and after seeing him with Sérëdhiel, he knew the same was true of the elf.

Slipping away from his brothers, he crossed to where the tracker stood, his eyes on the distance, and Aragorn wondered if the elf was ever fully in one place or if his attention was always divided because of his tracking.

"Have you spread your senses out to see how the others fare?"

Nostalion turned to him with a glare. "I told you how your friend was not long ago. If you think he is so far gone as to be dead within that space of time, then perhaps you should not stand so often in conference with your brothers—and do not think that I am ignorant of Quenya just because I am Avari."

Aragorn grimaced. He had grown up speaking the languages with his family, and he seldom realized when they changed from one to another unless another ranger pointed out to him that he was speaking in "elvish," and even then, most of them did not notice the difference between Quenya and Sindarin or any other dialect. His brothers had insulted their guide, even if that was not their intention.

"I did not assume you were—I heard Firyavaryar use it at least once, and his name itself is Quenya."

Nostalion nodded, though Aragorn doubted that was meant as a sign of forgiveness. "What is it you want, ranger?"

"Would it displease you more or less to call me 'Aragorn' or 'Strider' and not 'ranger?'"

The elf gave him a look that was far from amused. "You are fortunate that I am not still calling you _echil _as Varyar did. It is almost more fitting now than it was before, for you follow me almost blindly."

"No," Aragorn corrected. "I know that you will not do anything that risks Sérëdhiel. I have seen the depth of your affection for her as well as hers for you. So you are taking me to Legolas, and you will do what you can to rescue Firyavaryar, not for his sake so much as hers. That I know and trust in, and I am not the fool you believe me to be."

That last statement seemed to amuse the elf, and his lips twisted into a strange sort of smile. "There may yet be hope for you, _Estel."_

That was a statement his brothers had made several times before, and he had tired of it from them, but Aragorn thought this might be a sort of start to building something more than a forced companionship based on leverage or other loyalties between him and this strange elf. He did not deny that the tracker had several useful skills, and were Aragorn truly a king preparing for battle, he might well want this one fighting on his side.

"I wanted to know if you had checked on those we sent back to Mirkwood," Aragorn said, watching the emotion flicker in the elf's eyes before he extinguished it. "How are they?"

The elf closed his eyes and drew in a breath. "Alive. Some well. Some not. Idhrenion may be improving. I do not know that Eruaistaniel will. Perhaps this time she will fade. That may have been kinder than persuading her to live again after what your kind did to her."

"It was not you that did that, though, was it?" Aragorn asked. "Somehow, in spite of all he has done, I feel certain it was Firyavaryar who persuaded her not to die—that is why you feel she will now, isn't it?"

"He made a promise to protect her. He failed. Obviously."

Aragorn grimaced. Yes, the elf had failed. He'd failed in one of the worst possible ways. "Yet they live, don't they? There is still a chance that he will return to fulfill that promise, isn't there?"

"I cannot say."

Aragorn frowned. "Have you been lying all this time? Is Firyavaryar already dead?"

"No. At least, I do not think so, but I have come to distrust my own senses," Nostalion said, and Aragorn continued to frown. What was he saying? The tracker could not track? His ability was supposed to go beyond anything else, to be able to reach no matter the distance, and they were supposed to be closer not further away.

"What?"

"I feel that they are here. When I stretch my senses out, I am told that they are right _here. _Yet I do not see anyone, do you?"

* * *

After a period of staring at the door, waiting for Ogol to return through it or send his orcs to come and yank Legolas away from the light, his fear of darkness subsided enough to make it possible to return to the others, to the one he did not want the answer to as much as he did.

"Varyar?"

The other elf did not stir. It might even have been a relief to him to be in that state of unconsciousness after the pain he must have been in. Sometimes Legolas had wished for it, but then he also feared not waking after it. He did not know if he had slept or spent much time unconscious. The darkness and Ogol's torture kept him from having any real sense of time. He could have been here for days—or perhaps only for minutes. He was disoriented by this place, and he hated it.

Legolas forced himself forward. He ached, and he did not want to move, but he had to get closer. He could not tell if his friend was alive or not. "Varyar?"

The other elf groaned. Legolas did not think that he was fully conscious. He dragged himself a bit further, trying to get a better look at the wounds. Not all of what covered Firyavaryar was blood or bruises. Some of it was markings, written in a tongue that Legolas did not speak, but he figured it for the language of Mordor, of Sauron the deceiver. Ogol was some follower of the dark lord, even if he sought to conceal it, and what truth he had under that robe was debatable, but Legolas knew that whatever he was—he leaned toward a fallen Maia, for who would have a better reason to hide than one of them, and if he had been truthful about selecting Varyar's parents, then he could not be a man, for he was too old, plus he knew at least something of spellcraft, and more the Istari kind than that of any elves that Legolas knew.

"This is what he told you would not wash away even in the rain," Legolas whispered, almost reaching out to touch them but remembering himself in time. He grimaced. Varyar would have yelled at him by now if he were conscious—that was his blood on the stones that Legolas had almost put a hand in getting closer, and he did not know how they could think of moving him if Firyavaryar did poison everything he touched.

He glanced down. It would hurt, but at this point, they would be stumbling around trying to keep each other on their feet, and he could not touch Varyar unless he did it, so he would. He pulled his own tunic off, almost screaming in pain as he did, though it was the darkness on the edge of his vision that concerned him more. He sat still, struggling to calm his breathing.

"I think Ogol must have hit me harder than I thought. My eyes burn."

Legolas looked over at Varyar with a frown. "Are you teasing me now?"

"I would not dare. All time for that has passed, though you are quite pale under that thing in spite of the bruises. You would even glow if not for that torch there."

The prince fought a smile. That was teasing, and Varyar knew it, but he almost welcomed it despite all that had passed between them. "Sit up—carefully, if you vomit on my tunic I will never forgive you—and put that on."

Firyavaryar frowned. "Why?"

"Because your skin is poison, remember? You need to keep it covered. I suppose I will have to give you my boots, too."

"I did hit the wall harder than I thought. What are you thinking this will accomplish?"

"I do not know yet, but I am thinking that it just might mean escape, _mellon-nín."_

"Do not call me that," Varyar said, shaking his head and then leaning back, his face pale, and Legolas tried not to watch him struggle to keep his stomach from expelling what little might be in it. "I am not—"

"Habit," Legolas muttered, for he had said it out of habit and not because he thought it or was certain that he meant it. "I know that we are both weak, and I am not a complete fool—do not look at me like that—I think I know why Ogol rushed out of here the way he did. You _bit _him. If your skin is poison, if your blood is, then perhaps your saliva is, too, and he might already be sick."

Firyavaryar started laughing. "Oh, that is irony, is it not? Take down the evil with evil itself. The Valar must have a sense of humor after all."

Legolas thought perhaps the concussion was making Varyar a bit delusional, but then he did not know or want to know. "I have thought, many times in this place, that I could have changed things if only I had one of my weapons. Well, now Ogol has made a mistake. He left me with one."

"I do not see your knives, and only a fool would leave your bow for you to find."

"Varyar," Legolas said, about to lose his patience. _"You _are the weapon."

"Oh." Firyavaryar looked down at his hands and back at Legolas. "Then we truly are in trouble."

Legolas frowned. "We are not. Come on. Put on that tunic and we will examine the door. If it is wood, as I thought it was, then your poison can corrupt it and we can get past it and—"

"Legolas—"

"Yes, I know we are both injured, and it will not be easy, but you have already killed some of the orcs, and I believe Ogol killed others, and so we will have an easier time going through the halls. I know we don't know the way out yet, but I think we can persuade the orcs to tell us. This is our chance. Ogol is gone. While he is distracted, we must make our escape."

"Yes, I agree, and you have concocted a wonderful plan except for one part."

Legolas felt his stomach twist. "Do not tell me you were working for him willingly all along, Varyar. Do not say it. I cannot—"

"If the poison is in my blood, do you think that its supply is endless?" Varyar shook his head. "He has been doing this to see how many will die before I do. My strength is all but gone. I do not think I can last long enough to lead you out."


	18. Still Lost

**Storms in Middle Earth  
Chapter Eighteen  
Word Count:** 4,419**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really.**  
Author's Note:** Well, I went to name the chapter and managed to get Tom McRae's _Still Lost _stuck in my head, so I may or may not have passed that along to anyone reading it, but I'm not sure I will apologize for it.

It's not quite a cliffhanger, and I don't quite have my schedule back yet, either. *sigh*

* * *

**Still Lost**

_The first time he was locked in the darkness he wandered for hours trying to find the way out of the room he was in. He did not know that he managed to do anything other than walk around in circles—or perhaps squares, he did not know what shape or size room this was. He could not think in here, not in this darkness, and his senses were confused._

_He wanted to get out of here, but he did not think he would ever leave this darkness._

* * *

"Here?"

Nostalion nodded, obviously frustrated. "Yes. Here. As I have told you several times already. I can not tell you any more than that. I have tried, but I am not able to give you any further information. They are _here. _Either my senses are confused—"

"Or we're all being idiots," Aragorn said, getting frowns from all the elves around him. "They might not be in sight, but they're _here. _They are _under _us."

"This ground has not been disturbed in many centuries, Estel," Elladan began, kneeling down to examine it further. "I do not know that your theory can be correct. If there is anything under this ground, it has been buried for long enough to have the earth cover it over and it pass from most beings' memories. This place has no name or meaning for me. Elrohir?"

"I have heard of nothing here except the evil that is Dol Guldur, but that tower lies in the distance. If this is the work of one of the nine, it is even more deceptive than we had previously known." Elrohir frowned. "Though I know in his treachery with the rings he was subtle, I would not have thought this his doing."

"I do not think Firyavaryar is of interest to Sauron," Nostalion said. "Whoever Ogol truly is, he does not have the power or authority of the dark lord. Not one of the nine. If he did, then Varyar would never have been turned into a walking plague."

"You were there when that happened," Aragorn said, watching the elf for his reaction. "You're certain this Ogol is not the same one?"

"Varyar was," Nostalion said. He looked at them and shook his head. "Ogol took him as a child and at least once more in his life. He was tortured by him. He knows that creature, and he said the one that had us was a different sort of evil. He was corrupted by a twisted thirst for knowledge—Ogol lusts for power. What was done to us was done because one twisted sadist wanted to see what could be done if he made himself into a Valar and 'improved' what they had done to elves. Ogol is probably a corrupted Maia."

"Your senses do not tell you more about him than that?"

"I only met Ogol the once, same as you. My senses were just as affected—_more _affected—by that unnatural mist, by that spell that Ogol used against us. When Varyar used his more natural version of it, he saw it affected me. He knew the stronger version would leave me unable to fight. It was something else we argued about." Nostalion grimaced. "We have missed something else obvious. The entrance is not here."

Elladan let out a curse that would have made their father wince. "Yes. That would explain the lack of disturbance here. They may still be below us, but we will have to find the entrance that the orcs and Ogol use first."

"I see no sign of anyone's presence here except ours," Elrohir said. "If your senses cannot tell us more than that they are below us, then we may have a long search before us. There is no telling how far from this point the entrance is."

"If _anyone _suggests that we separate and search alone in every direction—"

"Peace, Estel," Elladan said, smiling. "We would not dare. Not when you are injured and prone to being overwhelmed by orcs. We will not let you go anywhere alone."

Aragorn glared at him. "I am not a child, and even if I am younger than you and will not live as long as you will, you do not need to treat me as one."

"We have to find the entrance," Nostalion said. "I do not care what your brothers do to you so long as my family remains safe. That means that we have to find your friend quickly. Arguing over methods helps no one. We start that way."

"Why that way?" Elrohir asked, frowning. "You may have been the guide before, but if your senses can only tell you that they are under us, then you do not have to lead any longer."

"You may not wish to follow me, and I am not going to force you to do so, however—that way smells of orc and is further from Dol Guldur than the rest. Ogol might be a servant of the dark lord, but he is hiding in that shadow—perhaps even _from _that shadow. His entrance would not be close to the tower."

Elladan nodded. "I agree. Let us go."

* * *

"What do you mean?"

"I see I must speak plainer for your pampered ears, little prince," Firyavaryar said, pushing himself up against the wall. He leaned his head back and let out a breath before speaking again. "I do believe I am dying."

Legolas nodded. He had heard that. He refused to accept it, though. He would not think about that. He was going to focus on what he had, on the positive. He did not know how well he could move himself, but he did not fear the orcs. He could use Varyar's poison against them until he was able to get a weapon of his own—preferably the ones that _were _his own—and once he did, they would continue out of this horrible place. He would see daylight again.

"I spoke of what you said about leading me out. Do you know this place well enough to do so?"

"No."

Legolas grimaced. "I thought you were saying that you could. You did leave here before."

"Yes, because I was broken enough to make him believe my lies about going for my family to turn them over into his hands not because I served him willingly and even if I did I do not think he would have let me know all the ways in and out of here. He is hungry for power, and as ineffectual as he is, he takes that power from us. That is why he plays his games." Varyar winced, reaching up to his head. "I think I know part of the way, but most of the time I spent here was as a prisoner even if he claims otherwise."

"Was he always this good at torture?"

"Are you suggesting he came close to breaking you, Legolas? No. I do not believe that. You are stronger than I am, and you have not given up hope that your hope is coming for you."

Legolas nodded. "Yes, I do believe Estel will come for me. I _know_ he will. That is why we should do what we can to escape. You will not survive more orcs being sent after you, and I do not want to acquire any more injuries. I will have trouble moving as it is."

Firyavaryar shook his head. "I am dying. I have accepted that. It is what I came here to do."

"Varyar—"

"As long as I live, Ogol will hunt me. Even if I could survive, I do not want to. He did take that _elleth _because of me. I do not even know her name. I cannot even tell her family her fate, but she endured a painful death because I happened to pass close to her when his orcs were coming for me. Now I have betrayed you. No one else will die because of me. I will not let that happen."

Legolas almost wanted to comfort him. He did not know that he believed Varyar, not completely—the betrayal had destroyed a lot of trust—but he understood the anguish and guilt of having someone die because of him. He was a prince. He led his guards and patrols into danger knowing that they could die—that they _would _die for him—and he had to live with himself after each skirmish, each injury, and even a death.

He could not touch Firyavaryar to comfort him, and he did not think that would help even if he could. "Put on the tunic, Varyar. The least you owe me now is my freedom. If you are going to die, you will die freeing me."

"How very commanding of you. It is good to see you have become more of a leader in my absence. If my betrayal has helped you see past your stubborn loyalty, then you have gained something from it," Firyavaryar said, picking up the tunic and pulling it over his shoulders. "Are you still planning on giving me your boots?"

Legolas grimaced. He did not want to walk on the stone without shoes, but he did not know that they could allow Firyavaryar to be uncovered. They had to control where the poison touched, and that included the walls and the floor. Legolas started removing his boot, kicking it free because he could not bend to use his hands.

"How did you become a walking plague?"

Varyar reached for the boot and started pulling it on with a grimace. "I think it was an accident."

Legolas stopped in the middle of removing his second boot. "An accident?"

"Elven healing fascinated Draugminaion. He subjected me to every illness he could find in his efforts to find its limits. Somehow I became the one person who cannot catch this malady, but I seem very able to spread it. I do not know what it is—it is deadly enough to kill a _mûmak—_though much slower than it kills everything else—but Idhrenion and Sérëdhiel together created a theory that it was a mutated form of all that I had been exposed to when he infected me. That, though, does not explain why the storms always acerbated the pain I felt from it."

"You have never liked storms."

"If we are going, you must give me the other boot, little prince."

Legolas did, kicking it as close as he could. His legs still ached, but he hoped that he would be able to walk when the time came. "I saw the marks. Those are what does not wash away in the rain."

"The first time Ogol tortured me, it started to rain. He had started his marks where my sleeve got torn, but they were everywhere. I could still hear the orcs as they desecrated my mother's body—they were not drowned out by having his voice in my ear as he took away everything from me." Varyar yanked the boot on. "If his voice is on the storm, I remember it all, but his voice is not on every storm. Come. If we are going, we must go now."

* * *

"I do not think I could ask for a greater gift from the Valar than your presence here now, my lord," Sérëdhiel said, wishing that she felt that it was a gift and not a threat that he was here. Anyone else would see them as blessed, and she wanted to believe they were—she knew that she could not save Eruaistaniel with her limited skills—but she did not know that she could feel at ease in Lord Elrond's presence.

He did not lift his head from his study of her friend, though he did nod. She tried not to fidget. Perhaps everyone would assume that she was worried about him disapproving of her care for her brother and cousin.

"I could not treat them until after Varyar secured our release," Sérëdhiel began, frowning. "I know her state is poor. Her... her spirit was weak before we were taken. The elf that she was meant to marry was killed and his enemies gave her into the hands of _edain _slavers. They—Varyar and Nostalion freed her, but she has never quite... recovered."

"She should have sailed, then," Nengalen muttered, and Sérëdhiel looked back at him, wishing Alassë had done more to him, as dangerous as that was.

"She is an Avari. The journey is not open to us," Sérëdhiel said, trying to control her temper. She wanted to hurt him, but she could not allow her temper to cause them all trouble. "Ehtyarion, please, this cannot help Eruaistaniel's condition or Lord Elrond's work. Take him away from here. I do not care what his duty is—it can be done elsewhere."

"I quite agree," Lord Elrond said, looking up and giving Nengalen a glare of disapproval. Ehtyarion pushed the younger elf away, and Beridhren moved to help him. Elrond watched them leave before his eyes turned to her.

"I suppose you came because your foresight led you here—and not for my friend's sake or my brother's," she began, exchanging a worried glance with Alassë. The elf-lord might well know what Firyavaryar had done—and he could already have told the king. Even if he had not, their situation was precarious.

"What is it you fear?"

Sérëdhiel met the elf-lord's eyes. "I believe you know what I fear, and it is not kind of you to ask. You will not get me to speak of things that might harm my brother or any of us here."

"Why do you assume that anyone would harm you?"

"I know you heard Nengalen. Why would you ask that? He is not alone in his hatred."

Elrond nodded. "Yes, but you are not being honest. What your brother feared has come to pass."

She lowered her head. She did not think that her brother would have been able to keep that secret from someone like Lord Elrond. He knew too much, and when Firyavaryar was younger, he was more desperate. The healer must have known what troubled him or they would never have been able to leave Imladris. "Yes, I fear it has. I do not want to believe it—Varyar spent so long trying to avoid it."

"Some things cannot be avoided no matter how much we would wish to do so. We can only face the consequences of what was done."

"Are you here to be one of those consequences?"

The elf-lord moved toward her, lifting her chin so that she would look at him. "You carry wounds of your own that you have yet to speak of."

"What was done to me was minor. The orcs had their favorite toy in Eruaistaniel, and Idhrenion would try to protect her only to be injured himself."

"And yet anyone who targeted your brother—the one your brother feared—he would have known to harm you, would he not?"

She nodded. "Yes, but I told them that I am bonded to an elf who could sense if I had come to harm and if they wanted my brother to come, he had to know there was something worth coming for, that we were all alive."

"They believed this?"

"Why should they not? It is true."

Lord Elrond raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? Perhaps we should speak more of this."

* * *

"We are a sorry pair," Firyavaryar muttered, and Legolas laughed, though their situation was far from amusing at this point. His legs did not want to stay under him, and Varyar was too weak to support him, not that leaning against his friend was a simple matter, not with the plague he carried.

"We always were. That was said of us the first day we met, even though you were not injured at the time—just weak from lack of food, stubborn elfling that you were," Legolas reminded him, and Varyar grunted. "I would never have seen it, you know. You seemed so strong then."

"Is this some sort of attempt to convince me that I can carry both of us to the door, break the wood, and then drag you all the way to the surface because I am stronger than I think I am?"

"Would that work?"

"No." Varyar let Legolas fall, and he glared at his friend as the other elf put a hand to the door, collapsing back against the wall after he did. Legolas grimaced. Firyavaryar was weak—he had seen him like this only once before, when he tried to fight the orcs after being poisoned and falling. They would not escape like this. "Idhrenion and Sérëdhiel must be wrong about what this thing is. A disease would not do that to the door."

"Perhaps," Legolas said, doing his best to rise on his own, "you could have asked Draugminaion, since Ogol claimed to have him prisoner here. I believe he died the other day, though, so it is not—"

"Ogol had Draugminaion?"

"I do not know. He showed me someone he claimed had defied him so that I would know my future. He had ignored the fact that you belonged to Ogol, and for that he was tortured well-beyond the merciful death that you would have given him."

Firyavaryar shook his head. "It was _not _merciful. Neither Nostalion or I was willing to show that thing the mercy of a quick death. I gave him enough of what he had given me so that he would die—but only enough to linger, knowing he would die. He was supposed to suffer every bit of what that death holds."

Legolas did not like the way Varyar spoke. He knew that his friend had suffered at Draugminaion's hands and at Ogol's, but was that enough to justify that kind of a death? "After what he did—"

"Legolas, if Ogol had Draugminaion, then he had to have figured out a cure for what I gave that monster," Firyavaryar interrupted, and Legolas stared at him. "He would have been dead long before now if Ogol could not have cured him—should have been dead anyway because it was at least half-a-century ago that we freed ourselves from Draugminaion. He made the mistake of leaving Nostalion and me in the same room, and he should have died for it."

"If he did not die then, though, Ogol knows how to stop the poison you carry. He can cure it."

Varyar frowned. "Why do you sound _pleased _by that?"

"Because it means there is a cure. Why are _you _not pleased? You may yet be able to touch someone, to have this plague removed from you, to have a life again—"

"There is a point at which my body cannot continue to heal itself enough to keep me from succumbing to the disease, and I have already reached that point. It is you that fails to realize the true significance of this. If Ogol knows a cure, then he went off to treat himself and he will be back. He is not off somewhere dying and desperate. He is furious, and he will return and punish everyone for that anger."

"Then we do not have much time," Legolas said, though he still wanted to know what Ogol knew about the cure. If he had learned how to undo the effects of what Varyar carried, then Legolas would bring an army back here to rid this place of Ogol's evil and find that cure. "Which way do we go?"

Firyavaryar leaned out into the hall. "I am not certain. I was not given much opportunity to explore when I was here. There are two places I know well—three now, if I add in this room—but without one of the others for reference..."

"What others?"

"Ogol has his own... throne room, and that is where he likes to give his orcs orders when he is not torturing prisoners. He pretended to hold court there like any king would. It was a disgusting mockery that you would have despised after years in your father's palace," Varyar answered, moving forward. Legolas forced himself to follow. He had no desire to see that room, but if Firyavaryar had been the one in line to lead these troops, that was where he would have spent most of his time.

"I think we might need to go for your other reference point. This throne room should be in the middle of everything, and if we are hoping to escape, we do not want to trap ourselves in the center."

Firyavaryar turned back to look at him. "The other place is Ogol's private quarters, and I would assume him to be there now so which of those choices is preferable to you?"

"His private quarters?"

"I was his _pet," _Varyar spat. "I got to kneel at the foot of his bed like a dog. Yes, I know his private quarters."

Legolas flinched. He had not realized what he implied with his words. He had only thought of what might be in Ogol's chambers besides the monster himself. The cure. Everything he had taken from Legolas when he was captured. If they could get there, if Varyar needed it for reference, then they might have more than just a path by going to that room. "I did not mean—it is just that I thought, for a moment, that perhaps that was where he kept his... spoils, the things he took from those he captured."

Firyavaryar nodded. "It is, but as much as I know those knives mean to you, I do not think that we can go there. The throne room should be empty if he is not in it. That is the safer choice."

Legolas nodded. "Lead on."

* * *

"We could continue on for days and not find this stupid door," Aragorn muttered, his frustration growing. He felt as though they already _had_ journeyed for days. He did not like this. He knew how much Legolas hated being trapped underground, and if he was injured—he _had _to be injured—and stuck underground, it would have been that much worse for his friend. Aragorn had to get to Legolas now. They could wait no longer.

They could go no further without that door. He had not felt this helpless in years, other than that cursed moment when he did nothing and let Firyavaryar betray Legolas. If he had acted then, all of this would be different.

"Patience, Estel. We have barely begun our search."

Though he knew his brother's words were right, Aragorn shook his head. He could not accept this. He turned to face Nostalion. "Can you tell anything more now?"

"Whether it is a good sign or not, I do not know, but your friend is moving," Nostalion answered. "I cannot locate your door the way I do him, though."

"Something is wrong," Elladan said, moving past Aragorn to the tracker's side. "I do not know if it is only because you have not rested or eaten since we set out or if it is because of you doing what you do as much as you have, but I fear your health is far from what it should be. Were you wounded in either of those fights and refused to speak of it?"

Nostalion shook his head. "No. It is not.. There are many orcs here, and I am aware of them in a way that is overwhelming and almost... painful."

"Can you tell if any of them are moving toward a specific point? Like our door?"

"Estel," Elrohir said, frowning. "I know you fear for Legolas, but you are acting like a man who cannot tell the difference between a horse and a saddle. Both are tools, yes, but one lives and deserves to be treated with the respect any living being has earned."

Nostalion glared at him. "If you dare call me a saddle—"

"What my brother was trying to say, in his less than eloquent way," Elladan began, "was that Estel was failing to show any sort of consideration or appreciation for the help that you have given us. He is concerned for Legolas—we all are—but we have not been very sympathetic toward your needs during our journey."

Nostalion grunted. "I do not need or want consideration. I do not know where the entrance is. If I did I would say so."

"Yes, we know," Elrohir said. He smiled, but Aragorn did not think that he would ever be forgiven for that poor analogy of his. "We applied logic to this search before. We can do so again. We need a place that would be some kind of landmark but would disguise what it was—if this cavern is a secret, then the door would be as well."

"A rock?" Aragorn asked, looking around. He had spotted a couple of clusters of trees, but he did not think that they were the entrance that he and his brothers sought. "Some kind of formation of rocks rather than a tree—"

"Orcs," Elladan said, tensing. He frowned. "I can smell them, but I see nothing."

"I believe they approach from the south," Nostalion said, touching his head. "I can give you no more than that."

Aragorn was starting to believe that his brother was right about Nostalion. The other elf's condition was worse than he admitted, and he struggled more than he would show. They might not be able to fight when they needed to, not if he was hurting.

"A lot of them?"

"Perhaps the lord of Dol Guldur has realized that someone has been hiding in his shadow. Perhaps that last attack was not meant for Thranduil's people but Ogol's," Elladan said, and Elrohir nodded, though none of them could be certain where the orcs were coming from, not unless they saw them coming out of the hidden entrance.

Elrohir grimaced. "We could end up caught between two armies of orcs."

"You think we aren't already?"

Elladan smiled. "Always optimistic. I love that about you _edain."_

Aragorn almost laughed. "I was raised by elves."

"Children," Nostalion muttered. "That is what all of you are. Children."

Aragorn considered asking the elf how old he happened to be, since he suspected that despite their behavior, both of the twins were much older than Nostalion, but before he could, Elladan fired an arrow from his bow, and the orcs were on them.


	19. Fumbling for Freedom

**Storms in Middle Earth  
Chapter Nineteen  
Word Count:** 5,171**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really.**  
Author's Note:** So... I believe there is only one more part after this. I tend to write everything at once and come back to put in chapter breaks, so I did not know how many chapters this would end up being, but this does seem to be the last bit, with just an epilogue to go. I admit that this wasn't all part of the original plan for this story (the details of the rescue were quite vague,) but other than my lack of skill for writing action scenes (and unfortunately, this chapter has lots of action in it,) I believe this works.

One part of this did make me tear up a little, but I have the flu so we could blame that for it... and I did consider altering this to make it more of a cliffhanger, but I thought it better to have most things resolved before the last part so it would wind down all at the same rate. Maybe.

* * *

**Fumbling for Freedom**

_Once he had friends. Once he had family. Once he knew love._

_Now he did not. _

* * *

"Are we lost?"

"We might be," Firyavaryar answered, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. Legolas watched him with growing fear. This could not be happening. He _refused _to let Varyar die now. He did not know that he forgave the other elf for betraying him, but he did know that he would not let his former friend die. "This is a hallway."

"Yes," Legolas agreed, almost ready to laugh. In other circumstances, it might have been amusing. "It is, but where does it lead?"

"I am not certain, little prince. I think you may know as much as I do now. I should never have suggested that I could lead you anywhere."

"You have managed well enough so far," Legolas told him, reaching over to touch his arm. "You can continue. You _must, _because I am a lost little wood elf that cannot tell his directions without the stars. I need the trees to tell me where to go."

"You see? They still cheat for you."

Legolas laughed. Somehow those old memories seemed to hold on despite their years, and he still missed those times. He would never quite see dawn the way he had when he was with Firyavaryar, though the one he had enjoyed with Estel had been special as well. No matter how fine that day, it would always remind him of another. They all would. "Why did you go?"

"I have not moved."

"I mean when we were children. I asked you not to, I begged you not to, and we fought orcs because we were distracted. You almost died, and I thought that meant that you would stay, but you did not stay. You told me it was because of the rumors, of ignorant ones like Tirweg and Nengalen, but you know that was not the answer. Why did you not tell me of Ogol years ago?"

"I have no excuses to offer you," Firyavaryar told him. "What I have done is not something that can be altered or excused. You are correct—I owe you your freedom if I can manage it before my death, and that I shall give you if I can."

"Varyar—"

"I believe that we are close to the room we sought." Firyavarar pushed himself away from the wall and continued through the hall, his pace unsteady as he walked. Legolas was not much better—every step pained him, and he wanted to lie down, but he would not give up this chance for freedom. "This may be the door we want."

Legolas nodded. "You are certain that it is unguarded?"

"I see no point in it, but perhaps Ogol might. I will go first." Firyavaryar pushed the door open, stepping into the room. He grimaced. "I do hate how it smells in here."

To Legolas, the scent was no different from the other places in the caverns. Better, perhaps, than Varyar's room because there was no taint of orc blood upon the stones, but it seemed much the same to the prince, despite its size and almost open appearance. Ogol had grand delusions, or so that chair would suggest.

"This _is _the throne room, though. You know where to go from here."

Varyar nodded, stumbling as his eyes unfocused, and Legolas caught him, trying not to let him injure them both further. His ribs ached, and he could not breathe while holding his friend's weight, so he did the only thing he could—he pushed him over into the seat, getting a frown from the other elf. Firyavaryar was going to rest and think and find their way out of here.

"Tell me what you remember," Legolas said, needing to rest as well, and welcoming a distraction as well as trying to be prepared. If he knew the path, then he could continue moving them forward when Varyar faltered again.

"You know he told me once to sit here and picture myself in this place, leading everything," Firyavaryar said, eyes darkening as he looked around the room. "I refused."

"I think you may have managed to be a better ruler than you would think. _Ada _told me once that the mark of a king was not found in how well he fought or how diplomatic he was, but in his willingness to make and live with the decisions that no one else wanted to make."

"Your father is a wise elf."

"Not everyone agrees with that." Legolas looked at him. "And I do not know that he liked you much, so why would you call him wise?"

Firyavaryar laughed. "Think about where we are and how you got here. Your father was right, much as you might not want to hear it. Now if I could get up, I would be able to take us to the passage on the left which leads to... leads to..."

"To where?" Legolas waited, but he got no answer to his question. Firyavaryar slumped in the throne, and for a moment, Legolas did not think he was breathing. Frowning, he leaned over Varyar, and while he was relieved to see the other elf take a shallow breath, that was not enough. He reached out to shake him. "Firyavaryar, _mellon-nín, _please. I need you to wake again and tell me where to go. We need to get out of here."

Varyar muttered something in the dark tongue, and Legolas shook him again. He could not understand that language and did not need the headache it caused. _"Gwador, _listen to me. You are wounded, but if you stay here either orcs or Ogol will get you. You cannot let that happen. Tell me where we need to go."

Firyavaryar did not answer.

* * *

Sérëdhiel watched the lord of Imladris work with a strange sort of detachment. She was, she supposed, relieved in some sense that Eruaistaniel's cries had distracted Lord Elrond from the questions that he would have asked her about Nostalion, for those she did not want to answer. She regretted telling the human about them, for she had condemned her husband to helping him by doing so, even if she wanted to defend her brother and help Legolas.

She wished that Nostalion were here. She did not know how much longer their safety would last in Greenwood, and she did not want to be alone when it was lost.

"You came for your sons."

Lord Elrond lifted his head, drawn away from his efforts to aid Eruaistaniel to look at Sérëdhiel. She thought she might falter under his gaze, but she did not. She held herself in place, refusing to let his stare intimidate her. She had seen and suffered worse than the knowing look of one elf-lord.

"You have come for your sons because they are in danger. You are not here because of us or anything that we might have suffered," she said, and Alassë elbowed her, but she did not stop. "I am grateful for what you are doing and have done for my cousin and brother, but I cannot help my concern. What has happened is because we were taken to manipulate Firyavaryar, but it has drawn in others who had no part in this as well—Legolas, the ranger, and your sons."

"You believe I will blame you if anything happens to them," Elrond said, and she nodded, for his words were true. She knew that everyone would blame Varyar for this, when it was not his doing. He had tried to avoid so much, had run from Ogol and kept them hidden for centuries despite everything that monster did to him, but in the end, his actions were not enough. They had been taken, and now he had fallen.

Sérëdhiel sighed. "My brother would not have wanted your sons involved."

"He did not want Legolas or the ranger involved," Alassë agreed. "He tried to get them—and me—to turn back, but Legolas was stubborn and the ranger would not leave him."

"The ranger?"

"The one you call Estel. The one who is the heir to the throne of Gondor," Sérëdhiel said, uncertain if the elf-lord knew they knew that or not.

"He told you that he was the heir?"

"No, but he was a ranger who wears the ring of Barahir, and he was named hope. We are not all idiots, even if we are Avari. Some things we know little of, isolated as we are, but not everything passes from our notice," Alassë said. She winced at her own words, but the elf-lord offered her no censure. "It was Varyar who said it first, though he and Nostalion spoke before he did, so I do not know which of them was the one who determined his identity. No one has denied it, though."

Elrond nodded. Sérëdhiel thought perhaps he would have liked to deny it for the human's safety, but that could not be protected now, not with him out of reach.

"Varyar knew about your human, and he gave Ogol Legolas instead," Sérëdhiel told the elf-lord. "I do not know if that will make your ire less, but as it might soften your heart, I thought you should be told. Your hope is free—Ogol does not know who that ranger truly is."

"There is more honor in your brother than he realizes," Elrond said, and Sérëdhiel frowned. The lord of Imladris reached for her hand. "There are unavoidable fates, and there are those that can be lessened if we allow others to suffer in our place. Your brother succumbed to one, but he did not choose the other."

Sérëdhiel felt herself close to tears, but she swallowed them down. "Thank you, my lord. I do not know why he earned your kindness or understanding, but I know he has always valued it."

Elrond gave her a slight smile. "There was something in your brother of great courage when I first met him, and it was not because he almost died saving the prince's life. Few know the sort of struggle against the darkness that your brother has fought all his life—and even now, it has not yet won."

"Would your opinion change if one of your sons were to be injured getting Legolas back?"

"I sense that Prince Legolas still has a role to fill in Middle Earth, as do others affected by this crisis," Elrond told her. "There is still time, and there is still hope."

She folded her hands in her lap. "Hope for your sons and the ranger. Perhaps for Legolas. For Idhrenion. For Alassë. For their child."

Elrond glanced toward Alassë, and she flushed, lowering her head. "Why does everyone have to mention that? I am fine, well, and do not need to be fussed over because I bear a child. I came to no harm on the journey—Firyavaryar and Nostalion ensured that."

"Nevertheless, it might be wise to have you examined after your journey and the strain of your husband's injuries," Elrond said. Were Idhrenion not lying there unconscious, Sérëdhiel thought that Alassë would have fled from them. "You did not list hope for yourself, Sérëdhiel."

She drew in a breath, not wanting to answer the implied question. "I believe that if your sons and the ranger return, that Nostalion will. He will live, and that must suffice as my hope."

"Suffice?"

Her eyes went to her friend. "Eruaistaniel will likely die, and I will lose my dearest friend. My husband will return alive but shadowed. My brother is not returning. There is no hope, not for Varyar. Even were he to survive this, he would not want to. It does not matter if that fate was one he could not avoid—he has done as he always feared."

* * *

Orc cries filled the air, not concealed by the sound of distant thunder. Aragorn had not the ears of an elf and could not tell if this storm was one like the others, summoned by the fake nazgûl himself, or if this was just a matter of poor timing.

"Why did it have to rain?" Aragorn demanded, cursing the water pelting him as he tried not to fall, struggling to stay on his feet as the ground around him was churned into mud by the battle and the endless rain. He knew that the storm had only just begun, but the chill was already soaking through him, and he felt as though his feet were weighted down with more than heavy armor every time he moved. He had never fought so slowly, so clumsily, not even when he was injured.

He almost went down into the sludge, dodging the blade of an orc as he thrust his own sword into another. He knew that someone would be lecturing him about getting himself surrounded by orcs later, and he did not want to hear it. This time, though, he was determined to make sure that he would not need to be rescued by anyone.

He did not want to think about how there might not be anyone there _to_ rescue him.

He did not know what they had done to upset the Valar as they had—maybe it was the company they were keeping lately—but they had seemed to be cursed of late, or at least _he _was. He kept finding himself in the middle of orcs. He was not overwhelmed, not yet, but that could change since he thought it all too possible that they were caught between two armies. He had yet to find the door the second one had come from, but he didn't think they were fortunate enough to have the two of them at war with each other, just the three elves and one human that were _all _surrounded by orcs.

Aragorn had lost track of where the others were after they were forced to switch to their melee weapons, and he missed the comforting noise of his brother's bowstrings. Even a battle cry or two might have been reassuring, but all the others were fighting with a silence that was almost unnerving in comparison to the orcs. Their screams and squeals covered the sound of the swords and knives at work, and he could not tell where the elves were.

He lifted up his sword, parrying a strike from another angry orc, and pain lanced through his arm, radiating out from his injured shoulder. Elladan and Elrohir would have another lecture for him because of that, but they would have to wait until after the orcs were dead.

Or they were.

Perhaps they would find some way of lecturing him from Mandos' hall. Or Valinor. He knew his brothers. They were stubborn enough to manage it.

They weren't the only elves that were. He thought he'd hear from Legolas if he ever ended up there, but they were here to prevent that. It would not happen. They would find that entrance. They would find Legolas. He would be alive when they did.

Snarling, Aragorn moved forward, charging another orc and running his blade through him. He did not care how much his arm hurt or his back ached. These orcs would die. If they had any part in what happened to Legolas—well, he had no problem killing them before they had a part in kidnapping and torturing his friend, but he would have made them suffer in the same way if he had time.

Right now, though, he just needed to kill as many orcs as he could as fast as he could. They were making that almost easy for him, surrounding him as they had.

An orc swung a heavy sword at him, and he fell into the mud at the base of a tree, a clumsy evasion that his brothers would have mocked him for and he was no happier with—this damned mud made every step difficult—but he still took some satisfaction in seeing the sword stuck to the tree. Legolas would be apologizing to it and thanking it for its assistance, but Aragorn would have to remember to do that later.

The orc came at him again, and Aragorn pulled his dagger out, stabbing it into the orc's gut. He yanked the dagger out and kicked the body away, getting back to his feet. He didn't care if he was covered in mud. He would get through all of these orcs and to Legolas. He would not rest until he did.

He tried to look for his brothers again, but the rain was interfering with everything, and he did not think that he could locate them even if he could see. He didn't expect to see the tracker anywhere—he did not even know if that elf would have stayed. This was not his fight, and he could have taken the opportunity to leave and return to his family.

Something jumped on Aragorn's back, knocking him onto his knees. He twisted, trying to throw the orc off as he went for his dagger. The weight shifted, and Aragorn no longer had to fight it. He pushed it off and looked up at Nostalion.

"Stay close to the tree," the assassin said, not stopping long enough to say it. Aragorn frowned, but the elf disappeared back into a group of orcs before he could ask him why. Aragorn pushed himself up again, cutting the head off an orc that rushed him and facing another. These orcs would not stop coming. Every time he cut one down, two more came forward.

Something shifted under him, and Aragorn frowned, his attention going from the orc in front of him to his feet. The ground. Something was wrong with the ground. He did not understand what he was seeing, what he was feeling. He looked over at the orc, backing away. He hit a tree and grabbed hold of it, wrapping his arms around it as the ground moved.

A loud groan echoed through the glade, and Aragorn held desperately to the tree as the ground split open in front of him, creating a gaping maw. The orcs squealed in panic, and he watched as they slid down, disappearing into the hole.

Aragorn felt his feet slipping in the mud as the ground by the tree he held crumbled, washed away with the watery mud as the rain continued. He slid, hanging onto the roots and trying not to fall.

* * *

"Firyavaryar, we must move."

"No sunlight here, wood elf. Go away."

Legolas sighed. He did not know how to reach his friend fast enough. They needed to leave, but he did not think that Firyavaryar comprehended where he was or what was going on right now. He was lost in his injuries and the past, it would seem. Perhaps, then, the past could reach him. _"Gwador, _Sérëdhiel needs you. Wake up. Idhrenion is looking for you."

"Then next time he should not kick me so much in his sleep. He is still like a child even though he is—Legolas?"

"Yes," he answered, though the confusion on the other elf's face worried him. If Varyar did not know that he was with Legolas, then he might not know anything of use now. How had Firyavaryar faded so fast? Legolas would have suspected a fever in anyone else, and perhaps that was a part of this disease he carried within him. He did not know what to do—this was a terrible time to lose Varyar to a delirium. "Do you remember where you are now?"

Firyavaryar's eyes went to the other side of the room, and he nodded. "I know where we are."

"Good. I need you to lead us out of here."

"Cannot lead. Do not think I can get up now. I... Go forward from the passage on the left. Thirty—no, forty paces—"

"Varyar, you are coming with me."

"Do not be a fool, Legolas. You cannot carry me. What little direction I can give you, I will, but you will need all your strength to continue on past what I can tell you. I am not going with you. If Ogol finds me—and he likely will for he knows that I know little of this place—then I will, even in death, delay him. You must use that time to find your _echil _and go far from here."

Legolas shook his head. "No. Firyavaryar, no. You are not dying here. You are not giving up, and you will not ask me to leave you."

"You fool. I betrayed you. Go before I can do it again."

Legolas bent, taking a hand and placing it carefully on Varyar's arm. "As confusing as these past days have been, I know now that I could not hope to stay mad at you. You are still my friend, my _gwador. _I will not leave you. I forgive you."

Firyavaryar's eyes shifted in color as he shook his head. "Do not give me what I cannot possibly earn, and do not think that I can accept that forgiveness. You are loyal, and you are a good friend, and they will sing songs of you someday, but not of me, for never have my deeds been worthy. If I were to get any sort of favor from you, it would be to know that my family was still safe in your lands despite what I have done, that Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion will not suffer for my actions."

"Varyar—"

"Forty paces down the hall, there is a small crevice in the stone wall. Turn right just after it. Then continue on to where the torch rests. I always smelled fresh air near there, though I was unable to find the path it must have taken to reach that place. I could never get free, but perhaps you might."

Legolas shook his head. "No. Not without you."

"Yes, little prince. You have a kingdom to help. A land to save. An idiotic future king to keep from getting killed before he can take the throne. So much more than me is out there for you to care for, and you must survive to see it done."

"I cannot leave you. You cannot ask me to do this."

"I think that _elleth _was far from her home, well beyond her own borders. I do not think she belonged to any Avari settlements that I knew of, and I want to say she was of Lórien, though I cannot say why. Her hair was fair, as yours is, and she wore a green leaf... She was something of what I always thought Lady Galadriel might have been though I never saw her," Varyar said. "Please, Legolas, if you can tell her family what happened to her—"

"You will do that when we are free."

"No. That is a journey... I will not... make." Firyavaryar shook his head, and Legolas did not like the sound of his breathing. "Please tell... Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion... that... that I love them. Nostalion, too. His... expression... something... see... Alassë. Even Eruaistaniel..."

Legolas watched as Varyar's eyes closed again, and he swallowed, shaking his friend. He refused to accept this. Firyavaryar would not die here, not like this. "Wake up. You have to—"

"Incompetent fools!" Ogol yelled, his voice echoing through the halls though he was not in the throne room, not yet. "I will kill you all if they escape. Find them! Now!"

"Go," Varyar whispered, eyes still closed. "Go now. Give me.. a chance... to be the kind of friend you are. I will delay him. Go."

Legolas forced himself to nod, unable to blame the pain in his chest on his ribs. Giving Varyar's arm a final squeeze, he moved away from his friend, heading down the left passage.

* * *

"First you get yourself surrounded by orcs, and then you almost fall into a hole, all while looking like a drowned hobbit," Elladan said, and Aragorn glared up at him. He knew that he was in trouble, but he did not want the lecture.

"I don't remember you calling out a warning when the ground started to collapse," Aragorn muttered, taking Elrohir's hand and then Elladan's, letting his brothers drag him up. The three of them fell back on the side of the chasm, panting. "Why won't this cursed rain stop? Is it another unnatural storm?"

"I hear nothing, but then I was unprepared for the ground's sudden shift as well. I knew there were caverns below us, but I was not prepared for them to cave in as they did," Elrohir said, glancing at the sky and then to the hole beside them. "We will need to get away from this edge."

"And we should find some kind of shelter until the storm passes," Elladan began. "I do not think it wise to try and explore the caverns now—"

"I do not suppose you have room for another in that shelter, do you?"

"Legolas!" Aragorn cried, rushing over to his friend. He did not know how it was possible, but he was looking at Legolas. He was alive. Aragorn could not think, not now, not when he was torn between too many emotions. He was relieved to see Legolas alive and moving under his own power, but the state of the elf made him fear for Legolas' continued survival. So many bruises, little cuts, but the worst part was the way he'd fallen after he spoke just a moment ago, and now struggled to draw breath.

"Estel," Legolas said, voice weak but somehow he managed to smile. "I knew you would come."

"Yes, you stubborn elf. I had to come," Aragorn said, brushing back some of the prince's hair as he tried to get a better look at his friend's face. "You look terrible."

"I am well."

"You are a poor liar. I can see for myself that you are not," Aragorn told him. "Legolas, what did that thing do to you?"

"His form of torture was fairly crude. I think he could take lessons from others."

"I do not believe that he needs lessons," Elladan said, kneeling down next to them. "He has succeeded in doing enough already, _mellon-nín. _I believe that cut on your ear may be infected."

"It does throb," Legolas admitted, "but it is not the worst pain."

"You need not succumb to this grief," Elrohir said. "You still have friends, true friends, and we have all come for you, though somehow I think we were blessed—"

"Cursed."

"Blessed. The cave-in was like a blessing. Even we could not hold out against orcs in so great a number forever. Had the ground not collapsed, we would have been overwhelmed," Elrohir went on, not letting the interruption stop him. "I do not know if you had anything to do with that, Legolas, but we must all be grateful that it happened."

"I do not know if it was just that the caverns were old—I do not think Ogol made them, just took them for his own purposes—or if what Varyar did spread beyond what he did to the door, but it might have been possible," Legolas said, and then he flinched as if pained.

"What hurts?" Aragorn asked, looking at his friend's wounds. The cut on his ear did seem infected, but he was more worried about the dark marks on the elf's chest. "We should treat his ribs, Elladan. Where are those herbs you were torturing me with earlier?"

"This is grief," Elladan said, exchanging a look with his twin. Aragorn pushed his hair out of his eyes, wishing the rain would stop already. Shouldn't the cave-in have killed Ogol if he was the one behind the storm? Shouldn't the rain have ended with his death?

"Give me your cloak," Aragorn said, looking at his brother. "That thing took his shirt and—"

"I gave my tunic to Firyavaryar."

"What?"

"It was so we could leave the room. He was bleeding, Estel, and his blood was poison. So was his skin." Legolas let out a breath. "And without him, I would not have escaped. Do not look at me like that. He was as much a prisoner as I was. He helped me. And..."

"You think he is dead," Elrohir said, and Legolas nodded, trying to curl into himself. Aragorn grimaced. He did not want to hear that. Part of him was relieved—he did not want to give that elf a chance to hurt Legolas again—but at the same time, he did not want to see his friend grieving, either.

Firyavaryar was not worth this. He _had _betrayed Legolas. Aragorn heard something behind him and looked up to see Nostalion there. Well, at least that one was alive, though he would not be happy to hear what Legolas had said.

Wait. He might have the answer that Legolas wanted. "Nostalion, Firyavaryar—"

"Is dead."

Aragorn flinched. He knew that voice. He knew that robe. Ogol.

"I would complain about the loss, but why should I? My new pet has done far better in less time. Look at all he has brought me. Such fine additions to my army," Ogol said, laughing. "Though I find I have no use for the mortal. He is too fragile for my needs."

Legolas glared at the robe. "No. I am not your pet—and Varyar was not, either. You will not get your army. We will kill you first."

"You are fools. None of you can kill me. You will all serve me," Ogol insisted, and Aragorn realized that he was about to start in on whatever it was that he'd used before to put them all to sleep. They had to attack. Now, before that thing could cast its spell.

"No. None of them will ever serve you."

Ogol turned, nazgûl wraps flailing as he did, and everyone stared at the figure behind him. "You were dead."

"Yes, I was. A part of me died when you killed my mother and claimed me," Firyavaryar agreed, nodding as he took a step toward the robe. Aragorn pushed Legolas back before he could try and move toward his friend. "The mark you left on my skin continued that process all this time. More of me died when Draugminaion experimented on me. I suppose a part of me was still alive, the part devoted to my family, but you took them. The only other thing that ever mattered to me you made me betray. This ends. Now."

"You cannot kill me any more than they could, pet. Your poison does not work on me."

"You may have found a way to cure it, but that does not make you immune," Firyavaryar said, smiling. "And I do not need it."

"Varyar, no! Do not do this—"

"I am sorry, Legolas," Firyavaryar said, throwing his weight onto the robe and knocking both of them off the edge, plunging them down into the chasm below.


	20. After the Storm

**Storms in Middle Earth  
Chapter Twenty  
Word Count:** 4,964 (or less, depends on if you read the final scene or not)**  
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: **Same as chapter 1, really.**  
Author's Note:** I hate endings. I really hate writing them. They are the hardest part of a story for me to do. I just never quite feel like they are satisfying. The only ones that I'm confident about are ones where I left on a cliffhanger and know will piss everyone off.

Ahem. This is not one of those times, but I am not going to claim to have any clarity about this one. My emotions are about as mixed as they can get.

First, though, I would like to thank everyone who has made it this far in reading despite my poor research, rambling vacillation, warped sense of humor, and tendency to say too much in author's notes and review responses. I am just as socially awkward offline, though at least there people have voice inflection and facial expressions to help interpret my weirdness. Thanks also to the reviewers, as the reviews meant a lot to me after all of my insanity and insecurity regarding this story.

And for the conclusion... I went back and forth about this. I got my laptop back and survived the onslaught of company and lingering sickness, and I would blame that for my indecisiveness, but no, it's just me. The thing is, I agree with Nostalion. And I don't.

So if you find that you agree with Nostalion, skip the last scene. If you don't, then read it. Yes, pick your ending. That's it.

* * *

**After the Storm**

_He had missed the sound of the rain, the sight of the water, and the smell of the air._

_Most of all, though, he missed the way it cleansed. When the storm was gone, there was a peace and a renewal, and he would like to feel that way again—fresh and absolved, but he knew that it was not to be. He would never know that again._

* * *

"Varyar."

"Legolas, come away from the edge. Please," Aragorn said, drawing his friend back from the cliff, hoping that the ground beneath them would hold. His feet were ready to slip right out from under him, and if they did, he would take the heedless elf with him. Legolas might not care if that happened, and Aragorn did not know how to help him. He did not have words now, no one did. His brothers had managed to draw their weapons when Firyavaryar distracted Ogol, but they had not had time to fire before the elf took the creature and himself off the side.

"I kept thinking I had to be wrong," Legolas whispered, "that I had done wrong leaving when he asked me to, that I'd abandoned him to more torture, that he was still alive. He was."

"Legolas—"

"In some ways, this is a relief," Legolas went on as though no one had spoken, though he did not sound relieved. "He is gone, but I did not abandon him. He gave me time to escape. I gave him time to kill the monster that destroyed his life. He is at peace."

"We will need to examine this place later," Elladan said, frowning down at the gaping maw. "It is perhaps too much to assume that this Ogol died in the fall."

Elrohir nodded. "And even if he did, we will need to know more of him."

Aragorn shook his head. They should not be discussing this in front of Legolas, not in his state. Aragorn had never seen Legolas look this bad, and it was not even the physical wounds that worried him. "About that shelter—"

"The rain has stopped."

"We do not know that the orcs were all killed when the cavern collapsed," Nostalion said, his voice more subdued than usual. Aragorn frowned. That elf of any of them would know, wouldn't he? He should be able to sense the orcs around them, and he would even have the answer to Elladan's question—and the one that Legolas had not asked.

"We will start with shelter. Even if the rain has stopped, that place is not safe to explore, and we must see to the injured," Elrohir said, his eyes going to Legolas. "Come away now, _mellon. _You cannot stay here."

Legolas lowered his head. "I do not know how to leave."

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged looks, but they did not seem to have the wisdom of their father and did not know what to say, at least not now. Aragorn swallowed, trying to summon some kind of response.

"It is dangerous here, _mellon-nín. _The ground is not steady, and more orcs could come. I do not know when last you ate or drank, but we will take care of you now," Aragorn said, trying to take Legolas' arm only to have the elf pull away from him.

Nostalion went to the prince's other side. "It is what he would have wanted. He stopped Ogol, and he protected his family. He would only have regretted that you were hurt as a part of it."

Legolas looked at the other elf, his eyes bright. "Yes, it is what he would have wanted. I... I wish there was a way that would have saved him as well."

Nostalion nodded. "For Sérëdhiel's sake, I would want that as well, but for his sake, I think there could have been no better outcome. He has protected his family to his end, and that is more than most of us can hope for."

Legolas lowered his head. "I do not know that I can agree with you. I would gladly have come with him to root out this evil, and I would have done so long before it could have harmed Varyar again or anyone else. I would have done what I could have to prevent his torture at Draugminaion's hands."

"If Varyar had not been there, I would be dead, having suffered the same fate as Alassë's brother and what would have happened to Eruaistaniel when the _edain _tired of her. No. I do not think I can agree with you, prince, not on that subject or many others, but I do know that Varyar would be annoyed with you now. He saved your life, and he did not do it so that you could throw yourself off the edge in grief or succumb to the torture Ogol inflicted on you. So get away from the edge and go with your friends to be treated. Now."

Legolas nodded, and Aragorn moved in to help him rise. He looked over his friend's back to thank the assassin for that strange way of persuading him, but Nostalion had already walked away.

* * *

"It may have been prudent to leave someone behind to watch over the chasm."

"We have already argued over this, Elladan. The troops led by Ehtyarion will do what must be done there," Aragorn said, not wanting to argue over this again. He did not think Legolas needed any reminders of what had happened there. They should not speak of it while he could hear them, not now. Legolas was paler than he should be—his physical wounds had already started to respond to treatment—but his spirits remained low. He had not spoken since they left.

"Yes, but there is still a gap of time from when we departed and when his company would reach Ogol's realm. Orcs could have removed things from his rooms, they might have taken anything that could have told us who he truly was—_what _he truly was," Elladan said, and Aragorn nodded. He did agree with that, and he did want to know the truth of what that thing was, but he also wanted Legolas to recover from his ordeal, and he knew that would not come if they did not stop reminding him of it.

Ogol was dead, but his death had claimed the life of another, and despite what that one had done to him, Legolas still mourned him. Aragorn did not understand that, would _never _understand that, but he knew that he did not have to understand it—he just had to make certain that Legolas could cope with it.

"Peace, brother," Elrohir said. "I do not think that any orcs that survived would have been organized enough to remove those signs. They are leaderless, and they do not know what to do. Even if they did, I doubt they are thinking of helping him. He is gone, and they will either find a new master or die, but they will not organize themselves into any real threat."

"Ehtyarion's troops will take care of any orcs they find," Aragorn added. He glanced toward Legolas and back at his brothers. "Stop your fretting. We need to get back without you two worrying each other—and someone else—to death."

All of them cringed at his poor choice of words, but Legolas did not seem to hear them. The more Aragorn saw of this, the more he worried. He did not think that his friend would fade—he would not _let _Legolas fade over Firyavaryar. That one was not worth it, not even if he had helped Legolas escape, not even if he had killed Ogol. That did not erase the pain he'd caused Legolas, and it did not undo his betrayal.

"You are late."

Startled, Aragorn turned, frowning. _"Ada? _What are you doing here?"

"Why should I not be here when my sons have gone chasing shadows?" Elrond asked, lifting an eyebrow. "I knew that at least one of you would returned injured, and while I would not insult Thranduil by implying that his healers could not treat you, I would rather be assured of your recovery by my own eyes."

"We are well, _Ada. _We have only a few bruises and cuts," Elladan said, and Elrohir nodded in agreement. "Estel has more—and one is infected though he will not admit to it. We do not know about Nostalion, though he has not mentioned any injury—"

"Should I have any need of healing, I would think it best to receive it from the hands of my own wife," the assassin said, though he bowed his head to Elrond before walking away from them. The elf-lord smiled, making no attempt to stop him.

Elrohir turned his attention back to his father. "It is Legolas who is most in need of your skills."

_And a lot more than them, _Aragorn thought darkly. He did not know how they would get his friend to _want _to live again, but they had to find some way. Firyavaryar did not get that victory. He had paid for his betrayal with his death. That was enough.

"I am not as injured as I could have been," Legolas said, his voice almost lifeless. "Either Ogol had not truly begun what he intended to do to me, or he overestimated the success of his efforts before."

"They worked on Firyavaryar."

Legolas whirled, facing Aragorn in anger. "Because he was a child who had just seen his mother murdered before his eyes. Yes, I think Varyar broke some under that torture, but not as much as you think. He ran from Ogol, he ran all his life, and he kept his siblings from that monster. Maybe in the end he seemed weak, but that depends on your point of view. He never once turned away from his responsibility for his family, and he did save them."

"Legolas, I was only—"

"Please, do not say anything more. I do not expect you to understand my willingness to forgive Varyar—and yes, I _have _forgiven him, I told him I did before he died—but I do not want you to try and change my mind about what I did or how I feel. I have been confused enough, but I have clarity now—he was always my friend, and I loved him as friend and brother, and now that he is gone I will mourn him as the same. Excuse me."

Aragorn started to protest, but Elrond caught his arm. "Let him go, _ion-nín. _Many things are spoken in the heat of grief that will fade with the pain he feels now. He will need you, and I do think he wants you there, but he will need time as well."

"He also needs you to treat him."

Elrond nodded. "I will see to him soon. First, though, we will take care of this infection of yours."

Elladan and Elrohir smiled. "Do you need our help, _Ada?"_

"No, he does not. I am not that injured, and you do not need to—_Ada, _if you knew all along why I had that dream and who the elf was in it and what he meant to Legolas, why did you not tell me? Why did you let me come out here ignorant? Why did you not tell me what I needed to know to stop him from betraying Legolas?"

"I did not know all that would come to pass," Elrond said, a soft rebuke in his voice as he started prodding the wound on Aragorn's arm. "Your dream could have been that moment when Firyavaryar ambushed the orcs for Legolas, yes, but it could have been one of a hundred others as well. Firyavaryar's future was always clouded and uncertain. I do not know if that was because of what he was born or because of what this 'Ogol' did to him, but I could not see his fate. He feared it, and I saw what efforts he made to fight against it and prevent it. All I could know when you had that dream was that if Firyavaryar had returned, Legolas would have need of you. I could not know how or why."

Aragorn shook his head. This was not enough. It was not good enough, and he could not be satisfied with this—any of it. "I could have stopped him from betraying Legolas."

"Could you have? Perhaps. Would that have stopped Ogol? No. Firyavaryar would still be dead, his family would be in that being's hands, and all who knew of that one's treachery would have been silenced. Instead, a threat has been exposed, evil has been slain, and while some questions remain, there is much that we have learned from what has happened," Elrond told him. He put a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "I almost find it amusing that after all your injuries you have yet to realize one important lesson from them—while pain is temporary, there is a lesson in it, one we learn sometimes at great cost. Perhaps Legolas has faced this betrayal to prepare him for a darker time ahead, one where he will need what sustained him during his torture."

"Do not forget, brother," Elladan began, and Aragorn turned to him with a frown. "Even if Varyar did fail to prove a true friend to Legolas—you have not."

* * *

"Legolas?"

He lifted his head, not expecting that voice of any of them. He had ignored calls and entreaties from many concerned voices, but he had not been prepared to hear hers. That was his undoing. He had not realized that he had opened the door until she was moving past him, and he was only slightly aware of her companion that stayed by the door.

"Sérëdhiel," he said, trying to find words in a dry throat, choked with guilt. "I did not... I could not... I stopped to see Idhrenion. He was asleep, but he looked much better, and I think he will recover soon—"

"Yes, he will, but you will not, not if you continue to shut yourself away like this," she said, standing in front of him. "He would not want this. You know he would not."

Legolas flinched. He did not know how to think of Varyar without pain, and even though he agreed with Nostalion—that death was the one that Firyavaryar would have wanted—he could not want that. "I would have done anything to prevent his loss."

"I know, and I do not blame you, nor should you blame yourself."

"You think I blame myself? No one else would accuse me of that. No one would dare. I am the one that was wronged—they all tell me that."

She nodded. "I did not say that you were not. I did not want to hear what your ranger friend wanted to say about Varyar, but I know he chose you, that he betrayed you to Ogol instead of others, and I know that must have hurt more than anyone can understand, for I know how you loved my brother as your own."

Legolas sighed. "I do not want to discuss this. I am not going to—"

"You forgave Varyar. Can you not forgive yourself? Whatever blame you feel for your part of it is not a burden you should have to bear. Do not flatter yourself that he took Ogol's life for your sake alone, that he died for you only, that it was your life he sacrificed all for. It was not. You know that. Ogol had to be stopped, and you would have stopped him, if you were standing where Varyar was. Admit that. Accept it. Stop punishing yourself."

Legolas wanted to mutter something about hating her logic, for it was a terrible weapon in her hands, and it always had been. "I will not have you tell me how to grieve."

"I have not come to tell you that," she said, reaching to take his hand. "I have come to tell you goodbye."

He stared at her. "What? No. You are not going. You cannot leave. This is—you're not healed and Idhrenion is not—"

"My ankle is well enough for the journey I intend to take, and Idhrenion may be weak, but he is as determined to leave as I am. Even if I had to be carried," she glanced toward her husband, who gave her a slight smile. "I would go. We cannot stay here. You know that."

"You do not have to go," Legolas said, feeling as though he were about to lose an old, familiar argument. He did not want to do this with her. He knew that he had not spoken to her since his return—could not speak to her, not with Varyar's loss always in his thoughts—but he could not let her go. He was not ready for her to leave. He needed her here.

She shook her head. "Yes, we do. Even though you would not want to see us that way, we are a reminder of what you have suffered and why you were made to suffer it. You were hurt because of us, and that will always be a part of what you feel when you see us. We also remind you of what was lost."

"You have not all finished healing, and you cannot all be carried," Legolas objected. Sérëdhiel was not being logical. She should be logical about this. "What of Eruaistaniel? She will not survive any kind of journey, not in her state."

"She is why we must go," Sérëdhiel said, her voice full of pain. "Lord Elrond has done all he can, but her spirit is too damaged. We will take her to her home and bury her with her people."

Legolas winced. He did not want to let that happen. He could not let those that Varyar died for leave, could not let _them _die. "Is there not anything that can be done? Can she not find something worth staying for? What of Idhrenion and Alassë's child? She had a reason for continuing after the other pain she suffered. She can find that again—"

"Eruaistaniel loved Varyar," Sérëdhiel whispered, her eyes closing for a moment. "It was something never spoken of, and I do not know if he ever knew, but I think for her it was... safe to love him. He could not touch, and he could not hurt her in the ways she had been hurt before. He is gone, and with him goes the last of her hope. He would not want it, but he is not here to stop it. None of us can. She is fading."

"This is wrong," Legolas insisted. "It feels too much like Ogol has had the victory, and that should never have happened. He cannot take another life. I do not—"

"We all tried keeping knowledge of Varyar's fate from her to keep her from losing that last hope, but she knows. She does not want to live. That is not something we can change. You, though, you have the strength to carry on despite what has happened. You _must_ do so," Sérëdhiel told Legolas, touching his cheek, such sadness in her eyes. "You know Varyar would want that. He always wanted to protect you, even if it meant leaving you and never seeing you as much as he missed you every day and knew you missed him. Your death, your sorrow, your pain—none of that is what he would want for you. Even if he had survived, he would be telling you now that we were leaving."

Legolas shook his head. She was right, for she had always known her brother well, but he did not want to hear it. He did not want to accept this. "Do not go, Sérëdhiel. It—I do not want to lose you as well as Varyar. Not again. Please."

She gave him a slight smile. "This is temporary, little prince. Time will make these wounds fade, but reminders keep them too fresh. You have not been able to look upon us. That is why we will go now, but I feel certain that we will meet again. We will need you or you will need us, and when that time comes, I will be glad to see you again, _gwador."_

He did not want to acknowledge the truth of her words or how much it hurt to know that she and the others were leaving. "Is your husband going to hurt me if I embrace you, _gwathel?"_

She laughed, stepping forward to wrap her arms around him. He held on for as long as he dared, not wanting to let her leave. He considered her as his own, too, and though he knew why she was doing this, it hurt almost as much as losing Varyar had.

"Idhrenion muttered something about telling you that in the absence of friends you needed family, though he is still somewhat unsettled from his ordeal and learning he is to be a father, so I do not know if you should credit his words with any sense."

Legolas smiled. "No, I do. I know what he means. Thank you, Sérëdhiel."

"Thank you," she said, stepping back to take Nostalion's hand. "We will see you again, but until then, keep him safe, ranger."

"Always," Estel said, and Legolas shook his head. He had not realized that his friend was waiting in the hall, though it should not have surprised him. Estel had tried to visit many times, and Legolas had not let him in, but he knew now that he would. "You have my word."

The other elves nodded to Estel, and he smiled back. Legolas frowned at him, uncertain why he could accept Sérëdhiel and Nostalion but had never done so with Firyavaryar. Perhaps if they could have learned more before, perhaps there was some way to avoid this, all of it. Legolas wished he had been more willing to listen, not just now but then. He would have given anything to save Firyavaryar. He would like to have prevented the betrayal as well.

He did not know that any of that was possible, but if they could have found some way of working together, as they had later, then it might have been different.

He could think that for all eternity, though, and it would not change what had happened. Still, he almost slumped against his doorway, glad of the man's company as the others departed.

"Legolas?"

"No."

"What?"

He almost laughed. "No, I am not fine, and no, I will not be for some time, but she is right—someday I will be. I am going to see my father for a while, but I would like to spend some more time together later, if you are willing...?"

Estel smiled. "Always."

* * *

**The End.  
**

**Mostly.**

* * *

"There you are, _gildin._ I have been waiting for you."

Firyavaryar forced his eyes open and groaned as he saw the sunlight and something gray and old. He did not know why he was seeing anything at all, but he was too tired and too sore to think much on it yet. "I should be dead."

The Istari nodded. "There are many things that should be, and many things that should not be. There are things that were, and there are things that are."

Varyar lifted his head to glare at him. A sudden throbbing overtook it, and he almost did not manage to speak. "Your riddles are not and never have been amusing."

Mithrandir smiled. "Humor is often dependent on the person speaking—and the one listening."

Firyavaryar grunted, lowering his head back to the ground. He did not want to debate riddles or humor this time, though he had tried when he was younger. He had enjoyed his conversations with the wizard even if he only understood half of them. "Are Avari so cursed that we are not even allowed in Mandos' halls? I cannot even remember seeing them."

"Then perhaps you did not die."

"I fell," Firyavaryar said. He sat up again, ignoring the nausea that wanted to fill the chasm beside him as it emptied his stomach. "I pushed him off and fell with him. I fell down _there._ I should be dead. I _want_ to be dead. Why am I cursed to remain living?"

The wizard's eyes turned to him in question. "Is life such a burden?"

Varyar could have told him all the reasons why it had been, why it would always seem that way, but he did not know that he would ever manage to reason with the Istari. He did not have the energy to do that now. "I had some measure of redemption in my death. I had done what I did not think possible. I killed him. I was free. They were safe. It should not be like this. I should be dead."

"And because you are denied a hero's death, you are... angry?"

"A part of me is," Varyar admitted. He drew in a breath and let it out. "I did not expect to live. I did not _want _to live. Why am I still here?"

"Your work is not finished."

Varyar shuddered. He did not want to think about his work or what the Istari might mean by that. He knew what Ogol would have meant by it, and it sickened him. He was not that. He would not do that. He was not a worker. He was not a pet. He was free.

Only he was not.

"What if a part of Ogol was able to survive because I did? If he is tied to me because he marked me, if he could survive like Sauron did because of the ring—"

"Then you have still won a victory," Mithrandir told him, and Varyar frowned. Sometimes, for all that he was older and wiser than most, the wizard was a fool. "You have shown him that he has no hold over you regardless of what marks he placed upon you. You have shown him that you are willing to kill—to die—to stop him. You have freed your family and dealt a crushing blow to his army. Even if he survived, he would need time to recover from this rout. His forces are gone, his hidden fortress in ruins, and his prisoners freed. His treachery has been exposed, and he can hide no longer in Dol Guldur's shadow. He must rebuild if he is to return, and you do not know that he will."

Firyavaryar closed his eyes. "I did not want a victory. I wanted... I suppose like a fool I was hoping for atonement. Living was not supposed to happen—how can I go on knowing that I have betrayed the one friend I had as a child?"

"By learning to accept his forgiveness."

"How do you know that Legolas forgave me?"

"I know young Thranduilion, and I know how he thinks," Mithrandir answered, giving Firyavaryar another smile. "I also know when it is time for me to leave."

"Wait. Ogol—was he one of you? Was he a fallen Maia?"

"I fear so." The Istari looked down at the chasm. "Which one I am not certain at present, for not all are known to the people of Middle Earth, and not all are known to me personally, but what twisted this one into what you call Ogol is disturbing indeed."

Varyar had other words for it, but he nodded. "That is a relief. He said some things at times that made me think he was somehow... related to me, but as he was one of you, then he is not, and I am glad of it. I would want no kinship with his evil."

"For one who values family as highly as you, that would be a great burden," Mithrandir agreed. "Yet I do not believe it was yours to bear. I must try and learn more of this one, and of the lord of Dol Guldur. I have much work to do."

"You may do it on your own. I am not coming with you."

The wizard laughed, and Varyar watched him walk away, trying to ignore the pain that he felt. He knew that he should not linger. If Mithrandir was here, then others would be, and he did not want to stay near Ogol's home.

He heard something behind him and turned to Nostalion. "You are late."

"You could have warned me about the hospitality of the wood elves. They were very stubborn about letting us go, one in particular."

"Does he know?"

"No," Sérëdhiel answered, sitting down next to him. "None of them do. We agreed it was better this way."

"Yes," Varyar agreed. "This way I can not hurt him again."

"I think you are an idiot, but I am apparently the only one who thinks you should have told Legolas the truth," Idhrenion muttered as he sat down with Alassë's help. "I only agreed to come because if we had stayed any longer, Eruaistaniel would have faded. Some idiot told her you were gone."

Varyar grimaced. He knew that she would not have taken his broken promise well, and he had known she had suffered, though he could not know how much from what little he had seen of her before Ogol took him from them. Still, perhaps now she might recover.

Idhrenion hit him. "And that is for not telling me that Alassë was pregnant. Why was I the last one to know?"

"Because you are a fool, little brother," Firyavaryar told him, smiling at Idhrenion's expression. _"Tolo._ We should go. A storm is coming."


End file.
